


they say you're bad for my health

by rhys (TeaPlease)



Series: wellness [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, But also, Dark Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Florida, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just Burning, Long lengthy letters, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Soft Richie Tozier, THEN SUDDENLY, Unconventional Format, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and it takes place in Florida so take that, implied/referenced eating disorder, sexts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaPlease/pseuds/rhys
Summary: Institutionalised living suits Eddie just as well as Wall Street ever did. The routine, the order, the incorrigible loneliness. An unaccounted for variable in the algorithm goes by the pen-name R.T.-- the T is silent, the R is Richie-- and their snail mail correspondence belies the true depth that their relationship spirals into.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: wellness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913704
Comments: 24
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

After a collective four days of postponing, the In-Patient Pen Pal Project published its first round of interest. Twenty-three people were eligible, some including pictures and some only holding their transcribed introductory paragraph. Entry number 17 went as followed: 

> _Hello. My name is Edward but I prefer people to call me Eddie. My interests include literature, writing, mortuary studies, and plant-keeping. I can speak Spanish and I understand French._
> 
> _I’d be happy to talk to someone who is passionate about whatever subject. I’m not judgemental. Except if you write about something horrifying, like deep-sea creatures. Exceptions can be made if you write about deep-sea creatures in the least threatening way possible._
> 
> _Hobbies: Badminton, running, reading, writing_
> 
> _Likes: Old movies, mortuary studies, swimming_
> 
> _Dislikes: Horrifying descriptions of deep-sea creatures._
> 
> If you are interested in talking to **Edward K.** , please tell us at [palm.meadows@gmail.com](--) indicating your desire to be their pen-pal. People can have more than one pen-pal so please don’t stop yourself from applying for multiple patients!

Patients at Palm Meadows were allowed to have a hand in their own schedules after a small team of doctors gave their approval. Eddie received the go-ahead four months into his stay. They said his personality had “evened out into a cohesive system of understandable action and reaction” profile so that “the risk of harm had lessened greatly, and look towards education” improved invariably. That was a long form of saying he responded well to treatment and seemed like he’d respond even better with more freedoms.

 _Regimen_ produced the best results out of a chaotic person and a doctor had told him that ‘calm waters beget a rushing torrent from upstream.’ At the time, Eddie didn’t know what that meant and resisted speaking for the entire meeting. But now that he was a bit further in, it all made sense-- his evaluation made sense. Eddie blossomed under regimen.

Nurse Ryland would gather him with a few others to do tai chi in the morning. He was allowed to wear loose fitting clothes that were inoffensive colours from centre regulation; he kept a pullover Bill had provided for him folded up near his bedside because he found it was best to force himself to dress upon waking. It was an immediate sensory signal that action would be taken since clothes were being changed.

From there, they ate breakfast- which a menu was provided for at the beginning of each week (they considered Sunday’s the beginning of a week, which Eddie found a bit annoying)- and got to listen to the radio or read weekly digest’s provided in the common area.

Medicine was taken after half an hour and then activities proceeded as followed: shower, reading, educational pursuits, therapy. Free time, meditation, dinner. Shower, free time, bed.

On Wednesdays and Fridays, there would be group sessions. Saturdays saw movie screenings which one had to sign up for on a form outside of the dispensary. Visits had to be pre-planned by 62 hours and consisted of an entire set of rules, levels, and distinctions. Should one comb through the 56-page document, there were many rules and codes that created a perfectly combed garden of stricting plotting lines and variety in the seeds that could be sewn in each plots 4 x 4 area, so to speak.

What was comfortable was the routine of it all. The expected with pre-planned instances of small excitements or opportunities. 

From the plastic lunch stools in the cafeteria, Eddie could look out over the back gardens and courts Palm Meadows showcased in sweeping panoramas on their website. The waves crashed alongside a short ledge of rocks and sand and then waters with the thin spikes of cruise ships just ever so pasted before everything was swallowed by horizon. Such a view was leagues different from his former office-view but seemed just as comparable.

_See, it happened, embarrassingly enough, in the middle of a party in West Palm Beach, on a property that cost more than he made in two years. At Bill and Mike’s party._

Had anyone known Eddie’s tells, maybe something would have changed. As it stood, Bill and Mike’s small vow renewal was an intimate and fun gathering with few faces and a wide setting. They had a small bungalow near the beach that was nestled near other, similar homes. Friends had helped transform the backyard into a verdant and spectacularly warm setting with string lights curling up and across carefully loved palm trees and gum root mammoths. A pool cleaner’s light cast waves in red and purple that reflected the happy buzz of every person there.

Bill and Mike celebrated their second technical year of marriage out of what had been going on a decade of loving partnership. People took pictures and cried their joy, their love, and the happy couple basked in an all around, unadulterated halo. 

Eddie smiled primmly as he held onto a cup of tropical fruit punch. He’d been sweating in the unfamiliar heat, tight button down beginning to spot near his back and stomach. Food smells were beginning to get cloying and people tried to speak to him at inopportune times of high anxiety, which only increased his distress. It was seeing someone feign vomiting that had sent his stomach in a reel. Five minutes of waffling by the water, three closing his eyes and counting, and then suddenly, he was in the kitchen with ringing ears and Bill’s face reddened and puffy. 

“It’s nothing, just nothing,” they told him he said ( _it was in the transcripts_ ) and Eddie had tried to keep it together under questioning but blew up terribly under scrutiny, shouted his rights down and sobbed, begged, with the little strength he had but there was nothing to be done. The law was the law.

Eddie Kaspbrak held only surprise at the fact his citizenship did not matter under the strange peninsula’s weird rules. A Baker Act is enacted on anyone within state line’s and Eddie was deemed a potential threat to himself and to others with mental conditions he vehemently protested against. Maybe threatening to slam himself into “ _every available wall in that fucking interview room_ ” was _not_ the best idea he’s ever maybe had ever. That is something he was willing to put his hands up and arrange admission over. 

Similar agreement could not be made about his illnesses at first.

What a stereotype, huh? Repressed many-disordered married man has a breakdown in probably the gayest way possible at the gayest place he could find during a particularly homosexual affair. Fallen from business-world grace, he caws and flies at clear windows, beating bloody body until they must gather him up and keep his foot chained in a very nice cage.

Only when he shows how good he is does he get to fly around a small enclosure, free.

Should it have been so poetic.

But Eddie is a good patient and he strives in organisation. He finds that receiving answers about behaviours he once found as mere idiosyncrasies to have an effect close to addictive. The revelation hurts him-- he grows resistant, then sullen, before crying in some lonely moment. Digestion and then the metabolizing energy that makes him perk, makes him push his shoulders back as another piece falls into place. 

That first major reveal leads him to the second major investment he’s ever made in his entire life. This can be attributed to volunteer nurse, Uris. 

They meet when Stanley is put on watch for an in-door badminton game. Eddie didn’t move to rally an out-of-bounder but the play wasn’t called and he marched toward the newcomer. “This thing went out of bounds, it was right over the chalk edge, and I demand you take their point back and give it to my team,” the patient said hotly. He shook the shuttlecock in emphasis as the other man blinked at him with a smile Eddie interpreted as beguiling. 

“Sorry about that. If you can indicate to me exactly where the shuttle went, I’d be more than onboard to change that around,” is the kind response he gets. 

Eddie brings him over while repeating the plays of that particular set. 

“Okay, you can stop all that racket.” It shuts Eddie up and his face turns grave as Stan mimes hitting a ball, tiny laugh present in his voice as he motions for his coworker to reverse the point cards.

When the nurse looks back at him, Eddie’s expression is of palpable exhaustion. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe they hired you in good conscience.” 

Bedside manner wasn’t difficult with the notorious Kaspbrak-- typically. Uris just had the fun position where he got to witness Eddie at his most energetic, which is when rules mattered and he broke a sweat.

By all accounts, many nurses spoke privately that if there was one trick-clown in the joint, Eddie held the ringleader's torch and wore the clown shoes for the whole circus. His appearance betrayed little. Often easy-going and calmly spoken, he looked like a tourist playing patient for the day. But that day had gone on into half a year and counting. And if there was a running record for how many times each person had tried to flirt with the often unresponsive former-accountant, well, the numbers would be pretty laughable. Maybe also problematic. 

So it’s supposed to be surprising that the hushed Mr. Kaspbrak is a hissyfit away from a racket-throwing breakdown. The nurse smiles and takes it in stride, laughing, and he and Eddie strike up an instant rapport.

Stanley becomes a part of his daily routine. They’re able to see each other one or two times within three open instances. In the morning, Stanley could approach him during breakfast wind-down and they’d listen to the radio together. Afternoons, he would be on duty for pill passouts. In the early evening, they assigned him often for club rooms so activities during free time could be monitored.

“Yeah, Patty came by for wine night with Bev and I.” Stan rubbed a thumb under his lip, grinning as he scooped up a handful of beads to mess up what had been Eddie’s slowly clearing row. “If you wanted to build up the gumption to ask why my hair looks the way it does, that’s the answer.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he replied with a delicate sniff as he surveyed his options. “I just assumed you always enjoyed looking like a wreck,” Stan’s laugh punctuated Eddie’s sentence, making the patient suppress a grin. “Not much of a big departure from your classic look.”

Faking hurt, Stan put a hand to his heart and started a neat combo on his side of the mancala board. “See, this is why I hate talking about my work life.” They looked at each other and his smile was so conspiratory, so sweet, it had Eddie’s shoulders sagging from their former squared competitiveness. “Whenever I tell them about what you’ve said to me this week, they always betray me. I only beg to catch a break.”

Neatly decimating Stanley’s clear row, Eddie tsked. “No more talking about you, Uris, what’s Bev and Pat up to?”

“You’re calling her Pat now? Pahah, jeez, are we that close?!” A desperate move to regain control.

Countered, Eddie scooping up a fistful and extra of beads to neatly drop twice around Stanley’s plot before neatly depositing it into his basin. Started a combo chain that left his side nearly polished clean. “We’re practically hand-holding besties. Now spit up the daily digest and give me my meal.”

“You’re horrendous and your sportsmanship sucks,” Nurse Uris grunted, conceding defeat just to watch Eddie’s tight-lipped frown betray itself into a thin smile that spoke minutes of laughter in the single gesture. 

It went like that. Stanley became a good friend to round out his second quarter in the care facility. Professionalism wasn’t big; nurses were expected to have a friendly disposition and a caring interaction with patients, even if they were rebuffed. Stanley was a volunteer and his time-limit further stressed a gentle lackadaisical and friendly attitude. Not to say he was totally flippant, quite the stickler for proper nouns and a pressed uniform. But it was different from the 24 year vets walking the corridors.

Beverly made herself a person on his visitation list, alongside Bill and Mike when they could make the drive.

Beverly stayed with Nurse Uris just a quarter-hour’s drive from Palm Meadows. Their townhouse was described as an eclectic clash of minimalist faire and raging late night pickups from junkyard handouts and estate sales. Meeting Marsh was the two ideas combined into a vibrant person who already felt like a shared soul. Uris had been talking with Eddie so much about her, and to her about him; Stanley would sneak him into the laundry rooms and call her from his cellphone, sharing a sandwich with Eddie as they all talked on the phone.

Meeting her in person felt like seeing a friend for lunch. A friend you always made plans with but they always fell through; a friend you loved but separate lives took you in separate paths in such a way that outings had to be scheduled with at least two months advance. 

She was warm and had a penchant for laughing with a hand over her mouth before exploding into guffaws.

He’d known Beverly for ages and she had been the one to encourage his relationship with Pay. Bev did a lot of the handiwork around the house, which wasn’t to say she was good at fixing things, just “a pro at patchwork applications!” 

Since he knew his days experiencing happiness were numbered, Eddie used his free time for other pursuits. 

Educational endeavours could be classed under anything with an end-goal. Exercise was what he typically went for, maybe reading and games with Stan, but Eddie found himself curled up in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and chewing on his lip thinking about what to write.

In the listings column, there was a particular ad he saw pop-up now and again that the institution sponsored and encouraged. It was a buddy program for rehabilitation and mental ease. The adult version of stepping around ‘pen pals.’

Stanley Uris made him realise something he wished could have happened a decade ago. Because with all the medicine and leisure time, even with the ample exercise he could get from jogging around the in-door court and pacing up and down his small room, Eddie Kaspbrak needed something more. 

He needed a friend. He needed people. 

Bill and Mike were a traveling pair who had already sacrificed so many book tours, so many press release meetings, to visit him. Their tenderness knew no bounds but they were hours away within Florida bounds. Not to mention the 16-hour plane rides they sometimes had to make. Stanley and Beverly lived close but still so far away. Stan had a grace period after his volunteer work where he wouldn’t be allowed as anyone’s visitor. Something to do with bias and corruption? As if Stanley could corrupt a thing. The man could touch printer paper and make it somehow cleaner. And Bev-- Bev, she was back and forth. Between local fashion work and opportunities in other states. And Patricia liked him, but it was never going to be enough to visit.

Being bitter about them wasn’t sustainable. 

Being bitter about being alone wasn’t sustainable. 

But he was alone-- he was going to be alone. Time was running out for him and the days with Stanley, with Bev, were numbered. Eddie tried as hard as he could to spend them in the comfortable positions the three had made as a group, posturing angry, playing board games, pretending that there were no procedures or orderlies watching them. Just a nurse, a patient, and a visitor having a good time.

Six more secret trips to the laundry, two more mancala games (unmediated), one game of Clue, and three nights where Eddie was too polka-dot pilled up to do anything but hum and listen to chatter. That’s what the end result was. 

There had been whispers about it- as if he needed the reminder.

Stan said goodbye in the morning and ignored the hot, still look on Eddie’s face as he announced his departure. Promised they would write. Teased him about his long sideburns. Gave him the gentlest squeeze on his shoulder and said ‘we’ll talk soon.’ Did Eddie bear it ever stoically indeed, back to the plaster-rigid facial expression that he adopted around the rehab often. 

A nurse was instructed to give him a slice of cake, but it wasn’t allowed on his diet plan. Stan and two other volunteers ended their 150 hours of service work on the seventh month. 

Embarrassing as it is to say, Eddie did not survive well into the eighth.

His mood was strained-- he refused to talk to his therapist about issues long since resolved. Meals were harder for him to eat, he exercised more, frustration exerted into pushups, sprints, and midnight pacing. Alone in his room, the patient wondered how he could have regressed so quickly with the nagging need to sob or scream. Not for the first time did his fingers search for something to use; his mind was going through every possible scenario of how much he could do before someone came by to check on him. 

“Your pressure is looking really nice, Eddie.” He wore thin sweatshirts to avoid rolling up his sleeves. He reacted to the cold easily and disliked the sight of his scars at particular times of the day. 

It was work for him to answer, finally settling on a mild, “Good to hear” as the velcro was detached and the nurse wrote something down on a clipboard.

“How have you been doing lately?” she inquired gently with a measured and clinical candor that Eddie had already quickly identified. He was struck by the slow evolution in health practitioners from his youth up to now. 

There was no right answer that wouldn’t postpone a follow-up needling. Eddie settled on shrugging and, returning her gaze, spoke with polite impassivity, “There’s always room for improvement.”

Of course she recorded his answer and, seeming to weigh out the likelihoods of success on her part, decided to save follies for later. He was ushered into the conference room relegated for education and sat down at his own small table. The room was bright in the just-turned afternoon and he looked on as others shuffled in. There was William and then Sandy, Bethanne and Camilla. His eyes roved over the assemblage with confusion. Almost certainly there were individuals who were not ever interested in the education room- or plain out weren’t permitted. But someone came to elucidate on the matters. 

How thankful they should be that their pen pal program was a hit (polite clapping) and already, they’ve received correspondence. 

They were given their choice of pen or printer for the return letter. Eddie opened his handwritten letter, on a notebook paper that showed the paperweight’s efforts in trying to smoothe out what had to have been many crinkles and crumples. There were no stains but it smelled faintly like coffee.

_Dear Edward K.,_

_Greetings and salutations!,_

_Hi! This is my first time since the 5th grade writing a pen pal- at least one I never met in person. You know how you go to band camp and meet someone and then you become pen pals, but you already knew each other? Like, you already met and stuff well, that’s the norm when it comes to pen pals in my personal experience. ~~I'm ramblin~~ This is a really labored way to say hi, I’m technically out of practise with this pen pal stuff._

Eddie thinks he hates him. A little.

_My name is Richie and it’s nice to meet you, hoping that this gets to you, haha. It would suck if this was a scam but the site was reputable according to my thorough searches (2 pages of Google hits!)_

Hated him for sure. He leaned back a little to read the letter, feeling his cheek itch as he continued reading the surprisingly good handwriting.

_I’d love to get to learn more about you! Your profile was funny-- I promise I’m not going to send any horrific sea facts but I’d like to know your aversion to them if you don’t mind. I know it's super common for people to be scared of the sea and the deep dark depths of whatever, yknow, but I'm always really interested in digging into the why. Promise I won't use any of your answers in peer-reviewed research papers. Un-peer-reviewed papers are obviously on the table. Taha._

_Um, I’m a grown man above the age of 24 but under 70. My first car was a beatup pickup and it handled gas like a god, seriously. Had to sell it eventually but it was a great car. My first pet ever’s name was Cat because I, fun fact, have never owned a pet and just tried to pet strays on the side of the street (don’t recommend that). My first school was_

_And you got me. I’m answering security questions in lieu of actually thinking about any actual facts about myself. I actually forgot my password to this form so I’m going through the whole process again. Can you believe it? I can. I can because I know myself and this is a very me thing to do._

_How’d you get into mortuary studies? Are you interested in the supposed like, mummification process of a body or how funerals are conducted or what? Do your mortuary studies have anything to do with your interest in swimming so you could perhaps evade the long, Victorian-sleeved arms of a trench squid, which wears a floppy artisanal beret it ordered online? Are these interests linked in such a specific order as to reveal some hidden crazy past that you keep under wraps?_

_Like a mummy?_

_I don’t know! You tell me. I’d love to know. Feel free to also follow my security question form, since it worked wonders for me. Copying is the best form of flattery or something. This isn't my flimsy attempt at trying to steal your information just so that's clear. I'm not plundering credit card information. Anyways. This bit is going on too long, huh? Someone should end it. Maybe that someone is sitting in this very room that you and I are figuratively occupying..._

_I hope Palm Meadows is treating you well and that you’re doing okay! I know these letters will take a while to go through because there’s an administrative review process I’m copying verbatim from the website, but my hope extends for whatever length of time it takes for you to get these._

_Hope we can keep talking--_

_R.T._

_P.S. Seriously sorry if that scared you or got you annoyed in any way, the creature thing. I was trying to make it as non-threatening as possible._

_P.P.S. Really hope this isn’t a scam._

Leaning back in his bed, Eddie finished re-reading the letter with that same itch that had settled into a vague smile. This Richie guy, he seemed like a total knob, but he was kind of funny. Familiar in his humour. A guy that Eddie would never have chose, he considers, to talk to willingly. The written form allowed for various forms of meditation; this ‘R.T.’ could have been even more of a jokester than his letter gave away. It could have been grating to deal with in person but they weren’t in person. So there was no harm in letting himself relax into his own response and mull over the layers underneath scrawled ink. 

What could be gathered are a few things:

Richie clicked on his profile without knowing what he looked like. Aesthetics were purely void from his choice. 

Richie knew he wanted to write him and was dedicated to his decision even when he didn’t complete the form fully, had to redo his account’s settings.

The stranger was already concerned about offending him and hasted to over explain himself. 

He was willing to accept the long period of time snail-mail would take. 

“You gotta be a lonely sack’a to agree to this shit,” Eddie muttered as he finished Richie’s letter for the fifth time and neatly folded it up. Placing it on his desk, the patient stood to be escorted to the showers where he would wash methodically and mull over what to write back with a vague grin.

* * *

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190266787@N03/50360740237/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters will include long letters that slowly pick apart growing love.  
> here's something I did for fun, it's a fakeshot-mockup of the website: https://imgur.com/a/wPbVYED
> 
> I've been sitting on this for a hottie and it makes me happy to publish it.  
> clarification: Eddie was Baker Acted during a trip to Florida and has been placed with varying levels of agreeability on his part in an institution for rehabilitation purposes.
> 
> thanks for reading, love you, bye  
> xoxo


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is correspondence.

August 14th  
Edward K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

Is Richie your full name? Interested about your parents who named you a nickname. Does the T. stand for the optional phonetic addition, Ritchie? Would this make the T. optional?

I never went to band camp. I did play, though.

Your pun was painful. It made my back hurt, actually. I’ve reported it to the nurses and they’ll send you a correspondence known as a Cease and Desist. 

Mortuary studies are interesting as a field. There’s a long history of mad scientists coming up with their own patented embalming techniques. It’s morbid. I like reading about it, even though my dreams can be affected.

Your description was mostly confusing. Sounded like a really poorly dressed mannequin. Or what the ‘two kids in a trenchcoat’ trope but Parisians ^and Beatniks.

Do you like mummies? Are you one of the weirdos who enjoys deep sea dives? If so, locate your nearest trashcan and place this inside.

What do you like to do for fun? I’m going to make a baseless assumption for fun and guess people watch and write down funny things you notice. You should answer more security questions so I don’t have to do the work.

Palm Meadows is fine. It obviously is making this happen so I’m contractually obligated not to badmouth the institution. Have you seen pictures of it? You can find them on the website. At least the last time I checked. I don’t know what it looks like anymore.

Hope you’re okay wherever you are, Ritchie.

‘till next--

Eddie

August 23rd  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

Are we doing dear now because of me? Did I start it? That’s funny. I mean that’s how you’re taught to write a letter but it’s just, I never do that. I can’t remember doing it, that’s just the first instance in such a long time.

Ritchie tas von T(ee) is actually my full name. You cracked the code so I might as well expose myself as fully as possible. Transparency and all of that. It’s actually the ancestral name of a tribe of many-limbed awesome warriors who pillaged and plundered and stole but in a totally hot way without any of the bad stuff. Yeah, it’s no biggie. That’s just my culture.

They say not to disclose full names. I think it’s so no one discovers there’s a forever-long bloodfeud going on. That would suck!

What sucks more is you cringing at my perfectly great and wonderful pun. It’s not a big deal, I won’t hold it against you. No, seriously, these aren’t tears blotting my words. Haha. Ha… In all actuality, I’m sure I could get dinged for causing you distress in any way, which is why I think they take so long to process these (allegedly.) Obviously I do something that pisses you off, you should feel super empowered to tell the nurse staff and then write every name in the book you got for me. This tas von Tee is not blame you one bit.

 ~~Mad history scientists Mad scientists in history~~ History’s mad scientists are baller. Sucks your dreams get freaky after I assume reading about them? Yikes.

Two kids in a trenchcoat, but with baguettes, in the 60s. If only. You know, it’s funny you mentioned the trashcan bit, because one, I’m still writing this letter and two, people usually call me Trashmouth. It’s a thing from childhood. Bet you can’t guess why!

Your assumption is kinda on the dot which makes me super nervous. I don’t know, I have a lot of things that I find ‘fun’ but are just parts of being alive. Like, I like sitting down and watching people and noting funny things. Or drying my clothes and then putting them in a pile on my bed so I can stuff my face into a warm, good-smelling heap and then forget to fold anything. Recently, I’ve been doing a lot of uhhhh, this thing called geocaching haha. My buddy got me into this group meeting where they were all discussing it and you basically get coordinates to try and find a hidden treasure someone’s buried. Hide and seek but with people who can’t move but have a huge story to tell. 

It sounds immature but I promise it’s fun. 

Funny, actually, I’ve never really done deep dives or swimming. I go boating with some people I know but that was just partying on yachts and then stumbling home after about three hours. Really stumbling because it happens that fast for you to get unaccustomed to land.

I wanted to be a doctor when I was young but I think I’m too squeamish. Archaeology is like dried doctor stuff, with all the bits and stuff self-contained and not prone to… whatever accident of gravity and pressure and lighting and nature. So I _do_ actually really enjoy mummies. What are your favorite mummies or embalming stories? Any horrible histories to share with the class?

You must not get on much. I mean, it looks good, definitely better than most geocities out there, haha. Got your own fancy domain and everything. Palm Meadows is far from me; it’s not too revealing to say I live in New York, right? I live in New Yo’k. Actually, I’m in Jeesry ‘ight naow (i’m attempting to phonetically express the sick accent I’m doing right now.) Palm Meadows looks pretty. How long have you been staying there, if it’s not too invasive to ask. If it is, that’s totally understandable and something we can broach later or never have to talk about ever.

Hope you’ve been doing okay! Until next, cheers--

R.T.

September 5th  
Edward K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

That’s how people start letters.

From that description, I’m going to assume you’re a very regular white man with no defining traits or features at all. Except maybe Irish? That sounds like something someone who has “Irish blood” would say. Not to be bigoted. It’s way better than the 1/16th Italian or Native American people. Which you’re not one of. Right.

Albania has a long history of bloodfeuds. Maybe you’re 1/24th Albanian.

Thanks for reminding me of my rights as a patient, of which I am well aware. It’s nice of you in a dumb way. I’ve read the handbook and I can simply not reply to your letters. Or send you a legal document called a Cease and Desist. Which I always feel empowered to give to anyone. 

The decisions you make in crafting sentences are honestly confusing. Baller? Now that’s a yikes.

Trashmouth. Trashmouth Tee. Ritchie ‘Trashmouth’ von Tee. That’s stupid but also funny. Is it because your breath was horrible? I’m going to assume it was because you just had a certain penchant for certain language. If it’s something more intriguing, I’d be surprised.

Dry clothes that go unfolded get a lot of creases. I now know you walk around in weirdly wrinkled shirts. Don’t you get worried about burning your hand on a button?

I’ve never heard of geocaching. That sounds like a way to lure someone into getting murdered in my opinion. The item could easily be a trap. Have there been a lot of incidents of geo-caching related deaths or plots? Has anyone ever found gold? It does sound immature but childish and embarrassing things are fun a lot of the time. Now boating- Boating sounds dumb. I’ve always wanted to go whale watching. You have to take the ferry a lot to get between Jersey and York. Do you people watch around the World Financial? The people there are stupid but funny and nice.

I haven’t considered archaeology as dry doctorism. It’s the coward’s clinic, but actually getting to a patient is the biggest highlight. That undermines a lot of detailed work that goes into the medical field and the archaeological world both but it’s my letter and I don’t care. It’s nice that you were interested in that. 

Embalming story: the body of Lenin undergoes extensive balming in a “spa week” treatment to keep his skin looking youthful and make sure the replacement parts of his body and the physical parts of his body don’t break down and detach from one another.

 ~~I hate that you did that, by the way. Resist doing it ever again.~~ I bet your voicework sounds like shit. You’d get beat up by anyone from Brooklyn to Trenton, easy.

I’ve been staying here for seven months now. I’ll be here for longer so you’ll be getting postage from here for another five years. 

Hope the mailing process isn’t expensive for you.

'till next--

Eddie

September 16th  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

I’m a little bit of everything, Eds, I’m a mixing bag of every piece of vague colonialism the world has to offer. It’s all mixed up in this shake and the people are demanding me to-go! Tahaaaa.

Thanks for calling me dumb in a nice way. It’s shitty of you in a cool way. No ill-will met. Also, I see we’re going to be introducing language arts into the mix and as you have been slowly poking and prodding at, I’ve got a sharp wit that’ll get you like a shishkebab! You’re not gonna know what hit you when this tongue gets to working.

Talking about cursing, obviously. Just. In case that needed to be clarified. You got it by the way. Not only am I trash, I also say heinous dirty awful things. It’s the best! And I technically can't be stopped by anyone but administration so let’s hope they let me use grown up big boy words.  
  
Glad to know you’re very on the know of what your rights are. Do you shout down the local McDonalds when they forgo the offer of a supersize? You seem like a big personality. 

The decisions you make in crafting sentences are honestly confusing. Baller? Now that’s a yikes.

My weirdly wrinkled shirts are usually the backdrops for fun, bright patterns just so you know, Mr. Presumptuous, haha! I can whip out an iron with the best of ‘em. Hand burns are nothing compared to how warm I feel laying on a pile like that. It’s small enough that I can really get myself around it but an armful for loving and hugging. Why wash often when you can do a massive load and then reap the benefits.

Your geocaching question seems pointed and I’m now concerned. What are you plotting? Going to lure unsuspecting cachers who just want the thrill of adventure onto rehab ground’s and then steal? Man, Eddie. That’s cold. Harsh and cold. From what I know, _no_ , no one’s done a murder plot or found gold. 

Whale watching is fun. Wanna go sometime?

I appreciate you butchering a compliment toward me in acknowledging how dickishly you deliver them. It honestly warms my heart. And I’m super glad you included that embalming story! It reminds me of this mummified thing you might like that has to do with the embalming technique on this corpse somewhere I read about. It’s this little girl and people swear her eyes open and close depending on the time of day, it’s super freaky. And forensic scientists and professionals and photographers and videographers have all come to conduct studies and swore up and down she was possessed or alive or something. But it _turns out_ that the technique that was used on her, and the specific position of her body within the burial exhibition place or something made is to that the time of day and rising and setting of the sun made it seem like she opened and closed her eyes. Isn’t that insane?

Also, World Financial? I’m guessing you stayed in the area for some time? No wonder you got so much bite to you. I was wondering how homegrown spitfire Floridians are. Glad to know it’s just a fire I get to encounter in glimpses everyday. But you’re extra hot!! Gotta say, I appreciate it. Especially appreciate it because I can prove how wrong you are and would totally stun you with my amazing impressions, Mr. K-word. Pahaha! You’re not even ready.

Glad to know I’m a long haul option. Considering my enjoyment of these letters, the 50 cent roll isn’t a big chip off of my shoulder.

Why are you staying so long? Are you really like sick and need the help, or? 

Hope you stay safe and I’ll hear from you later--

R.T.  
  


P.S. I know you’re going to be getting this maybe late because I hear a storm is brewing down by your parts. I hope you stay safe.

P.P.S. Since this things might get delayed anyways, I’ll tell you my weekly rundown. I tried out for a few shows, like comedy stuff- I do comedy stuff- and I’m waiting to hear back about if I got on or not; waiting to see if my skits are good with some people, waiting to see if my stand-ups booked. I recently tried my hand at exercise in the park and it was weirdly good? My neighbors right now have these two really cute dogs who I can never remember the name of, so I just pretend I’m overwhelmed with how cute they are and make up gooey baby names to disguise that I’m actually super stupid.

Made some risotto. Have you ever had my risotto? You’d love my risotto. 

There’s a small band that gathers to meet in the basement of this bar I play at sometimes, and I got to listen to a jam session. It’s really exciting to see people _get_ excited over their interests or passions. Do you feel that way about things?

I’ve been reading up about embalming out of curiosity and wow, holy shit. It took me forever to find a source for that but wow, yeah. That’s insane. Hey, isn’t what happened with the Romanovs _literally_ wild banana balls pineapple express? Jeez.

It hasn’t been storming up here too bad. Getting cold flurries and shit but I’m assuming you know the drill as someone who probably isn’t from Florida? That’s really presumptuous of me again, but hey. P.P.S. actually stands for Pungent Presumption Sealed. 

I know it’s warm down there all the time but, hey, stay bundled up.

September 29th  
Edward K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie, 

Don’t call me Eds. --

Eddie

September 30th  
Edward K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

I’ve been informed brevity isn’t allowed. I think that’s stupid. Also: shish kebab. 

I don’t order supersize anything at McDonalds. I don’t supersize. I don’t McDonalds. ~~I have a~~

~~I’m here~~

~~When I think about~~

Food like that is gross to me.

You can hang your shirt or pants in the closet. On hangers? So you won’t have to iron as much but can help your clothes maintain shape as they get accustomed to your room air again. Oh wait, you live in New York, right? Might as well walk around smelling like gas.

How big are your piles? You make yourself sound like a giant. 

I lived in New York for the past 15 years. I was born somewhere else. 

I’m sorry if I’m too mean to you. ~~Suck my Suck it u~~

~~I think~~

You’re a cool person to talk to and I value our communication. I wouldn’t want you to feel bad. If I make you feel bad, tell me in a long and lengthy letter. 

Oh wait.

The storm is lingering over us right now but things are okay. I appreciated your embalming story. I’ll try to look into more archaeology stories. All I know about are bog bodies, which I assume you’ve heard about. Wasn’t there a major new discovery a couple of years back in Cheshire? 

My answer to your final question is: both, neither.

To address your pungent presumptions:

  * Comedian. That answers that.
  * What sort of exercise? Make sure to pack water…
  * Babynames to mask bad memory is smart.
  * I’ve never had risotto. I can’t say with confidence I’ll like anything you make me. But I appreciate you think I would. Maybe I would.
  * I’m happy when I see people excited that I like to see excited. It makes me smile for someone to share their happiness with me.
  * The Pineapple Express killed the Donner Party.



The rain has been making things really muggy. I hate the humidity, it makes me sweat through anything I wear. We have an in-door court and it fills up faster. Being around so many people kind of freaks me out. Especially when it involves a lot of deep breathing and inhales. But I know the schedules the cleaners keep and it stays really good. ~~I want to~~

I miss cleaning when I smell the floor cleaner they use. It was a meditative experience for me.

Sorry for my letter being a little disjointed. It’s been hard.

 ~~Unti  
~~ ~~I’ll talk t  
~~ ~~Would you like~~

My friends visited me. They travel a lot so it’s hard for them to settle down and come by but they came for three days in the week. I have a limit on what I’m allowed to wear from personal inventory, but my nurses approved of some sweatpants and two sweaters they gave me. They had to go to Oregon for press stuff. 

Seeing them sometimes makes me sadder than the happy I get. I guess because I know I want to see them more but can’t. Do you think that It was still really good to see them.

Do you have a lot of friends? You know band people and bar people and… neighbors. And dogs. I’d like to know more. I appreciate

Thanks for talking with me and the well-wishes on the weather.

Regards-- 

Eddie

P.S. I'd like to whale watch. 

P.P.S. It must be snowing by now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meditation tapes and methods of control
> 
> tw: mentions of self-harm (temperature play, not anything otherwise)

“Your hair’s gotten so long.” 

Eddie opened his eyes as Beverly’s fingers gently combed through his hair, first squinting past the bright midday sun so her image was less blown out. He let his head fall further into her touch and propped his chin up with a fist. She was smiling at him but her eyes had that downcast wrinkle near the edges. It was hard to face her concern; it was hard to know she was worried. 

“Think I should cut it?”

“Hm?” She frowned then pursed her lips. Her fingers went down to the nape of his neck where he tried not to tense as she brushed the strands. Two traced the length of a segment of hair. “... I don’t think so. Maybe if you’re worried about damage but I don’t see any.” 

He let himself close his eyes again. “Is it that easy to see damage?” he queried and Bev snorted. 

“Oh, immensely. It’s the number one reason Stan’s kept his hair the same length for three decades.” Her grin was in every word, the warmth of long nurtured affection. “Can’t get past a few inches down his ear without getting massive… you know. But,” she giggled. “He did try to get away with it for a year when we were mayb 23 and God. He looked so bad.”

Not hard to imagine a young sharp-chinned Uris with a styled quiff that was contrasted by fried ends and horribly frayed mid sections. He found himself smiling despite his dedication to being miserable. “And Patt stayed with him even then?”

“Even then.” Bev sighed. “What a trooper. How she didn’t take him to a bathroom with some scissors, I couldn’t imagine.”

“Because she had you for that, obviously,” and he felt something unkink just slightly at being the source of Beverly Marsh’s laughter. 

He hadn’t spoken to Ryland because they almost got into a physical altercation. That is, Eddie tried to punch him in momentary fury but was suppressed nearly immediately and caved into his emotions.Ryland was more sorry than Eddie was-- and even though they weren’t competing, that still felt entirely wrong.

He wasn’t the reason that people couldn’t have more than three visitors anymore but did implement a few regulations in mail protocol that hadn’t been fully realised. Eddie’s actions also prompted some detailed therapy transcripts, of which he loathed but accepted (secretly, he admired the secretarial ability to record every point of dialogue, repealed or not.)

See, Eddie expected to get a delayed letter from R.T. on Thursday because they told him a letter marked ‘urgent’ had arrived, and who else sent him post but the one man. Ryland had been talking about how being on the PPP committee had been just swell, great and all, when Eddie opened the letter and read the divorce papers Myra had filed. It felt like a planned attack in that moment; the way Eddie’s happiness was swapped quickly with dread, horror, disgust, and sorrow could not have been more jarring. More base. A quick switch that reminded him of childhood where he could go from anger to tears to stunned excitement in under two hours, the dizzying nausea that came with being alive.

So he swung. 

No, it wasn’t so immediate either. 

He held the letter, looked through the attached documents, then turned to Ryland with angry tears in his eyes. The nurse- as friendly as he could get to someone who wasn’t Stan- had momentary confusion that swapped to horror when he was able to distinguish the typewriter’s printed words. Eddie asked it this was a stupid joke and Ryland had started his blabbering. Mournful blabbering, sympathetic blabbering, more sincerity than the situation warranted in a mind that had already confirmed what reality was.

That’s when he got up to swing. Ryland had dodged (he was young) and Eddie was around other orderlies who of course jumped in to help.

He was chastened by a hold on his typical activity, left to walk in circles in a room for 48 hours and only left for food, barred from contact for a week, and probably cut his time down by a day through expressing a real remorse to Ryland. 

His friends were kind in how carefully they avoided any words that could potentially trigger Eddie. How grateful he felt, in his bitterness, in his hurt, that he had people who tried to tolerate how fucking moronic he was.

There was a tailspin result from receiving the divorce papers. What was the legal legitimacy of trying to divorce someone clinically insane? Was he clinically insane, ‘in his right mind?’ Would it mean he would become a second-class in the eyes of the law, an invalid? His mood swings wanted to increase with every new universe that his mind created for him, every new possibility. 

He found himself gripping the nozzle of the shower and wanting to see how much he could blast his body into a different realm, turning quick from cold to hottest, trying not to let those gulping, belly-aching sobs eek out as he wildly sought control. It was the control; it was the chaos. That he hadn’t expected this to happen right when he was beginning to feel happy-- to feel comfortable, to feel in the ease of pattern but of fucking _course_ she had to bring him back. And Eddie didn’t live and hate Myra. Her touch was sometimes overwhelming and her voice sometimes grating but he knew it was him.

He knew it was him.

They called it a ‘defective schema’ but is it a way of thinking more than a way of reality? A type of existence? 

When Beverly came, for the first hour he went over every inch of divorce planning with her. She went through it, she had answers-- and if he could avoid telling the exact story of ‘why’ her visits were denied a week prior, the better of it. “Am I the mistake?” he had asked with his eyes wide and jaw set. He watched her deflate then and reddened because he knew what she was thinking; poor Eddie, poor thing, thinking he’s the bad guy, that this is all his fault--

But he knew. God, did he know.

Restored to his rooms, Eddie let the bulky CD player whir under his sheets. The rented equipment provided the backdrop for his evening as he thumbed one of Richie’s dozen letters. As it slowly cranked away, the gentle lapping waves entered the right field in his ear. It spread slowly to even out with the left. Soon, birds joined in.

“Welcome to Relaxation 101.”

His room was dark and made reading the letters difficult. But that wasn’t the point. Eddie felt very much like he was teetering, chest heavy with unspoken everything.

“Please take a seat.”

“Become free with these sounds.”

The hallway light sputtered and the man closed his eyes. He was not good at letting go; without physicality, without control, his mind careened into many barriers that left him torn and ripped from the explosion. The waves were louder now and the birds seemed to fly away through his left and never reached his right. 

“Feel yourself in the center. I want you to imagine a boat… in the middle of the lake

Imagine yourself there, on that boat--”

He hated boats but liked the way Richie spelled them. His finger gently traced over the indents in the notebook paper. Swept over the dramatic slant that started the ‘b’ and how the bowl was almost its own separate shape entirely, attached barely. The ‘o’ which caught the ‘a’s stem, and how disjointed his ‘t’ was. Dips signaled pressure at the jerky slash, the obese ‘o’ and Eddie’s lips parted as he traced along it. There were letters he remembered, and letters he could recite.

The man’s voice, modulated strangely, so deep-- so serene-- implored him further. “Looking up at the sky. Looking up at the birds, passing by.” Here, the birds returned. Their squawks were unlike the mourning doves, whose whoops and bellows were in the greys of the day. Doves and mimics were what they got most of; Stan said mournings were abundant and mimics loved the Meadows’s many water basins and fountains with surrounding lush berries. Stan didn’t seem to think birds were overall _charming_ , often annoyed at a particular mocker who liked to replay car alarm renditions. They’d become close but there was still so much to discover about his friend.

Eddie tried to imagine what it would be like to be them.

“Imagine you were one of those birds soaring… over the Himalayas. 

When you look down and you see a man.”

Richie seemed tall. Taller than him which wasn’t exactly hard, but that wasn’t the point. He seemed tall. One of his letters bemoaned the small interiors of every apartment he’d ever lived in-- shuddered to imagine what being home would be like, going from “small to Too Much.” How much was Richie, that made him too much? Eddie supposed he could see it and it was hard to judge. 

Letters mediated communication. He could never know the true Richie-- his glimpses of “Trashmouth” were filled with spelling mistakes, grammatical mishaps, and little editing. Near the ends of his letters, returning to his hypothesis, the ink or graphite would smudge. That spelled poor author’s posture or a long arm someone hasn’t gotten used to yet. Maybe both. Could be neither. He didn’t know. But he wanted to imagine.

“And he’s soaring--” the honeyed tone ran deep with a contentment, a rich appreciation of the scene being spun, “and he’s soaring and he’s happy and he’s thinking about his surroundings and naught of what he’s doing. He’s at peace with the times.”

Eddie murmured, “I’m at peace with the times.”

“You are that man.. When you’re in your boat.”

“I’m in my boat,” he whispered, scarcely audible. “In the middle of the lake.” Richie partied on yachts. The same jerky ‘t’ of _three_ , with the doubled letters sinking into each other as if they weren’t separate, just conjoined to form the end syllable. Funny how Richie discussed phonetics; sometimes his writing seemed archaic in its form, too solid and hard as they formed hard consonants and shuddered to round out vowels. 

“It will take some time… and it will come to you, if you stay true to you.” 

“You are the buoy, you are the ship.” 

Divorced life wouldn’t fit Eddie. To be on his own, lost and directionless. 

_As if you considered returning_ a voice condescended, but he had, he promised because he was married and he cared. And sure Myra hadn’t visited and sure, Eddie tried not to dwell on that, maybe hadn’t, but at the end of the day he did because fuck if who else was in his life. Who else did he have? There was no one.

“Such a simple design that holds itself up. You are a simple creation capable of complex feats. Of immense strength. Imagine yourself bobbing above those waters.”

Bill and Mike had no contractual obligation to visit him. Stan was _not_ supposed to say ‘hello’ and Patt, if she didn't care, it would be totally reasonable, it would make complete sense and she was so busy, too; it would be completely understandable if she barely visited him. Beverly, well. She volunteered her time and emotional effort on the off-chance she had the time to spare him. But that was her spare time and the fact that Eddie could only mope in her presence at times like these, couldn't even be gregarious for fucking _Bev_? Bev, who was so split between fifteen different projects at a time? Fuck.

But what was he without them? All he had left was Myra, with her strength and firm character. Blistering, but his. Contractually and legally bound. How could he have single-handedly ruined the _one_ thing that ensured that loneliness wouldn’t be his defining trait? 

Why was he sad for himself when he should be happy that Myra was making a stand to not be made miserable.

“There is no east or west, no south or north, in these waters. You’re free to simply ‘be’ as you are with the waters, the sky and the birds.”

Holy shit, this was overwhelming. Eddie tilted his head back as the waves continued. His pills were beginning to break down well. He could feel the rising anxiety reach an invisible termination. Then, his brain did fall. 

Where was his center? When he was most unaware and singularly focused? 

Writing a letter took him two days. In that time, he sat very still and dedicated hours to careful pre-planning. Dissections typically took up most of the day. Essentially, Eddie occupied three or more different identities and headspaces depending on time, food, mood, sleep, drugs, and activity. The cursory first reader Eddie was in the afternoon, after pills, before dinner; prone to slight irritability but otherwise easily placated. Other Eddies could vary wildly. Interpretation and synergistic thought was dedicated to these letter analyses. Only then could a response be compiled, slowly and methodically. 

The construction of a response, the moments he spent with Richie, those were when he felt most focused. When his head was at the highest tunnel-space. Exercise was the culminating pressure that was extinguished until Eddie’s cranium was something close to empty. But writing Richie was a practise in vivid emotion slowly whittled down to the simplest expression, to the most definite and secure feeling that, should Eddie of any headspace read the letter, it would always be discernable and true to the moment.

 _Fuck_. Fuck.

The nurse, Janice?-- she took his CD player away and did well not to mention his red eyes or sniffles. His body felt heavy and at the question of tea, he declined and lay down once again to feel the waves support him. It felt like the rushing noise was still distantly in his ears.

Imagine what he looked like; too-long hair and thick eyebrows in disarray as different stalks of hair rubbed uncomfortably from Eddie’s agitation. The sweaty neck and red cheeks. 

Crying was a catharsis. It built up his tension as much as it quieted it, but it _was_ a catharsis. 

* * *

Eddie dreams of sewer waters and crying. He dreams of sounds like the Himalayas themselves have begun to move; he feels the ripples above his face as something reaches out for him. But it doesn't quite get him. He sinks slowly with the swaying motion of paper falling to ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more emotional chapter because it's what I deserve to write. letters for ch.4  
> should I post another chapter right now, like... right this minute? or tomorrow? lemme know.
> 
> also, I made a twitter: if you'd like to follow it, I shall link it below or in my next chapter update for either this or cherries or in my profile. I'm pretty new to the platform and barely know what's going on but it seems to be nice 
> 
> comments and kudos always astound me and I appreciate them greatly. 
> 
> thanks for reading, love you--  
> xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> letters are a nice way to talk to your friends.

October 20th  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

Boo! 

That’s it, that’s the letter. 

Nope, kidding! I won’t do that and have you suffer through my bit where I attach multiple sheets of blank paper then resume like all’s normal. But in theory… wouldn’t that be hilarious? 

I was able to check out your friend’s museum signing. Yeah, it happened up here at the Brooklyn Museum, which was really cool. Never really thought about historiography or any of that. To be honest I maybe approached that entire presentation with a defeated attitude off the cuff, haha… It’s not like I’m super smart. I mean, I’m more of a numbers guy if that’s hard to believe (we’ve talked about this before but y’know) but anyways, I went and he’s an amazing speaker. I didn’t really consider a lot of the cultural studies and ethics he brought up in relation to… who keeps our history alive? But he’s totally right, right, that there’s always been stories around us of all kinds of people and acceptance. It’s the access to those stories that backs up uhhh like, that backs up all the bullshit we deal with. It really does. 

I guess-- like a question I would have asked and yes, I did bring your list of questions, but there were a lot of people and I got nervous, cut me some slack-- something I was thinking of was how do we _know_ that these stories are accurate at all? Like, why do we buy into storytelling as used by crotchety old people historian types that basically LARP the goddamn Seven Years War (playing all the parts mind you) with only short paragraphs of half-assed evidence to back up their massive production? Why do we do that? 

I have no clue. Obviously no clue; it’s a question that I never asked and so went unanswered. 

The whole ignorance is bliss thing goes not apply here obviously, I’m actually worked up about the fact I didn’t ask so of _course_ I purchased the book and got it SIIIIIIIGNED, BAAAAYBEEEEEEE, of course I did that.

Eds, babe, you know I’d do that. It’s-- it’s simply me. 

You warn me about it as if you’re the one walking up to the table after the talks with me. Which isn’t something bad to I also think that It’s I also act as if you’re there but people are used to crazy bums mumbling to themselves and giggling. That’s the beauty of New York.

Meanwhile, my metro card almost got fucking _stolen_. Can you believe that shit? I hate taking the 5. It’s ass. I swear I’m moving one of these days. --

That was my short-form performance of every New Yorker under the age of 40. Thanks.

Since you’re one for updates, I got to see one of my old friends for the first time in a while; we live literally two blocks from each other but she just has a room she always gets at 5th next to that Jewish diner right across the ways, maybe another block down? She’s been changing up hotels recently because she’s lives the fine life but the thing is, she’s always crazy busy. Never stops. So she’ll be in town, leave, be in town, can never meet up with her unless I’m crashing one of her events or bringing her coffee, that sorta thing. Anyways, finally meet up with her and sit down to catch up for whatever time we got. Which wasn’t much but it was enough. It reminded me of what you were talking about three letters back, with your friends. Like it makes me sad as hell to know I can’t horde her to myself the way I want since I hardly see her and it distracts me from being happy. That ultra-awareness of time. But I think some things are meant to be relished. I’m a fat ass, I’m all about relishing. So… I’m going to make an effort to do that more.

I relish our letters, I relish my time with friends, I relish… a good burger, I guess? Can I say, it’s the way burgers always have shit that slide out that just turns me off from them. I’ll take Chinese food over that stuff.

Closed down a Vietnamese place down by this old theatre I worked at. Super unfortunate, I couldn’t believe it! You think having a C-rating for the past seven years would leave you with an established mediocrity. Even if the C rates health and not food, but if the rats are adding _that_ flavour to my Tom Kha, then who am I to judge? Right, Eds?

Been doing that a lot. It’s not like you can answer immediately. It sucks that you can’t, obviously. Or maybe it doesn’t because the impression you give me is that I’d immediately get gut-punched which, oof, super hot, kitty goes purr, but also-- what if I was eating and you did that? Gross.

Really glad you’ve been enjoying those books I suggested. It’s really cool your place has the resources to get orders put in. I got some library loans so we can bookclub together and reconvene by next month? Actually, let’s do December so there's a timely occasion for drafting a new list for the new year. This Earthseed book, the Octavia Butler series? Really fucking cool. I didn’t realise how big into sci-fi you’d be. Some of the themes are super heady too. That along with some of the murder mystery books? Dunno Eddie, your interests are collecting into something very “hhmmm, what’s next, cannibalism?” 

Two steps ahead of you my dearest: Along with my daily consumption of bodice rippers, I picked up a copy of _Flesh and Blood_ (realised I italicized this, mostly to stress the name but also, do you italicize book titles or underline them? Shit I forget)

Anyways it’s all about cannibalism and even goes into the different kinds! 

Librarians are freaky cool because they just let you check out this shit and have you go on about your day like, “Sure I potentially led to a new string of murders but you know what, they’re going to track me down right back here and I’ll tell him the goodness to everything truth _and_ get the overdue book back.”

How’s the reading going for you? 

Hope everything’s going well, per us. Gimme an update on that shitty badminton team you’re trying to haphazardly coach-- have they all fallen apart yet? Knowing you, I’m sure you can band people together no sweat. 

Looking forward to hearing from you like always. Cheers!--  
  
R.T.

P.S. I totally did the bit. But someone took the bit seriously. Isn’t that fucking awesome? Anyways, find more post-whatever enclosed, taha! Big Talk Trash T OUT!!! ‘Nother win in the beeeellt.

[ Enclosed: 

` There is a worn pamphlet detailing the exhibition hosted by Brooklyn Museum for one Mike Hanlon. The theme is “Histories of Unspoken Voices: Who Do We Trust to Tell Our Tales?” with the culmination of the exhibition’s first week resulting in this lecture by Dr. Hanlon. He presents the associated book of the same name, with limited copies available. Questions and signings occur afterwards with a short reception for museum members at 3 PM. 

` There is a polaroid of a gigantic, cleaved path of snow and the caked treetops and cars. A hand is spread out as if presenting the sight. 

‘ There is a developed picture of a cinema at night. Neon tubes are bright with yellow and red. Across the street, a sign is half-lit simply declaring ‘Food’-- there are closure signs pasted onto its windows. The street is crowded but the picture seems to be taken midway through a crosswalk. The heavy contrast between the warm theatre lights and the blue, dimmed restaurant makes the image seem like an overpowering greeting.

‘ There is a polaroid taken of many books stacked on top of a glass table. The glass table is stained with a ceramic rectangular vase and a caucus jutting out of it at a funny table. A mirror positioned in the corner near a bookshelf shows a cluttered apartment and a mop of dark hair sticking every rich way and the thick frame of glasses. ]

October 30th  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

Hi! I got an e-mail that you’ll no longer be accessible and I’m not sending this to say I’m about to freak the fuck out and I know they read these somehow someway but I’m calm, I just hope you’re all good.

Talk to you soon--

R.T.

October 30th  
Eddie K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

No. Stop it. Thanks.

You are super smart. I feel like you personally enjoy being stupid. Maybe it’s so baked into you because of your comedy acts. Playing to the lowest common denominator works out when everyone likes a poop joke but there’s only so much you can do.

Not saying it’s bad. Saying you’re better-- we’ll talk about that another time.

I’m glad you enjoyed it. Mike puts a lot of effort into his work and this is probably his biggest project and the largest reception. Did anyone ask particularly stupid questions? Tell me or not, my answer to my question is ‘yes.’ It’s up to you to provide examples.

Mike is very concerned with history of everything. The deceased only have some few sources of PR, and it’s important who we have publish their voices as those who speak for the dead. It’s amazing what he does and I hope he writes more. He’s good at it. Really amazing. I’m glad you got to go, even if you didn’t ask any of my questions. Some were traps anyways-- inside jokes. He would have known.

I think your question’s really thoughtful. He would have loved it. Coward.

The ‘coward’ comment does not get rescinded simply because you actually got the book signed. But I will amend that I’m glad you got to speak with him, if briefly. 

The more and more you incorrectly invoke my name, pet or nick-, I manifest as a spirit that will increase your chances of being smited. Stop mumbling to yourself like someone on dust; they’re going to start reporting you and then your visitation rights for every major museum will get taken away just like that.

So you’re 36.

I’m happy that you had the chance to see your friend. She sounds like a real busybody but who in NY isn’t, I guess. Reminds me of how I was with Bill. Your resolution is really definite. 

I admire your ability to be so concrete. I guess ditto, as well. For what you said.

(Mama Marie’s, is the Jewish place.)

Tom yum is better. You were defeated by this truth before your pen even touched paper, fool that you are. Don’t even respond to this portion of the letter you fuck-- tom yum is better. 

Gross, Richie. 

Think about some titles you’re interested in reading. We’ll curate something, somehow. I have a limit on how much I can order at a time so it can’t be a long list. Just a few titles. Glad you’re enjoying _Earthseed_ , but I assume you just mean _Parable of the Sower_. Earthseed’s the entire… thing. Anyways. It was Bill, actually, and Mike who told me about it. 

I like sci-fi. Sue me.  
Don’t, actually. You wouldn’t have a case and I doubt you have the money for legal fees.

You italicize. And yes, books about cannibalism are interesting. The Donner Party did survival cannibalism. Survival cannibalism happens more often than people like to acknowledge. Or, they acknowledge it and bash it. I don’t know what I would do if I was stuck with you and we were on a deserted island. Probably start at the foot if I got to that desperate point. Wonder how oily you are.

Hahah

Mike’s a librarian. You should hunt him down if he’s still there by the time you get this and grill him about library stories. If not, just visit Florida-- he works at one of the research university’s African American cultural history centers and a Civic Media Center. He’s cool. Talk to my cool friend now. Mention me and I’ll decimate you. 

The books are nice. I’m enjoying reading your suggestions. Mary at the front, she mentioned there’s a book you might be interested in called _100 Great Archaeological Discoveries_. It’s by Paul Gahn. I mean, she said you and I. So you, mostly. Look out for it at your local bookstore.

The badminton team is no longer. They’re fucking pussies. Their work ethic sucks. Not because they’re ill but because they’re pussies.

I might be a bigot. Or… mean to mental illness. Ironic. Pot-kettle? 

Your pictures are really nice. Thanks for the pamphlet. 

You need to clean your apartment. Jesus. 

If 

If I was available to help, I would kick you out of your own apartment and clean it completely, then reorganise it totally. 

Keep me posted about your writing; I’d like to review your drafts still. Don’t bitch out and not send them. I’ll include lengthy harassment. 

Regards--

Eddie K. 

P.S. Hi, something’s happened, so they’re changing mail protocol. I’m not sure if you can send pictures or extra material. I don’t discourage you sending them. 

P.P.S. They let me hang them up.

November 8th  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

Writing this in a bit of a remixed venue, pardon my paper quality and all that. 

I’m in a hotel right now with my crazy ass friend and we’re going to motherfucking see motherfucking CATS and Eddie, I’m halfway to inebriated but not in a relapsey way but fuckinggod I wish you were here to be with us, you’d love her and she would love you so so so much. Literally so much. Words would not describe how well you’d get along

I gotta tell you about how much I love this broad, she’s just the best. I swear I’d leave NY for her, I think I might, I’m like so fucking stunned by how amazing she is. We didn’t get to spend Halloween together which holy shiiiiit that’s such a whole nother story let me fucking tell YOU

Actually, I’m getting immensely side-tracked. I’m writing this as she is desperately reworking the material of these tights I’m wearing because on a trip to Japan- she’s really into vintage stuff and fashion shit and weird stuff I don’t even know- anyways so she got these amazing cat outfits from the 50s. I’m packed like a vienna sausage into this one-piece cat snuggie and we’re both tipsy _affected_ we’re both affected and she’s stitching a new pattern into my tights. She is giving me my stripes. Tell me that isn’t a metaphor come to life if I ever did absolutely ever did have a way of words to say how _cool_ she is.

She’s just like, breath of fresh air type shit. Did you know she’s dating this guy? We’ll talk about it later. We. Will. Talk about it later. 

And yeah, dude, Mama Marie’s was completely right on the money-- she said so herself and she’s definitely going to try and sneak and see what I’m writing because she’s snoopy but I guess I want your permission to discuss you? To her? Because I’d really like to but there was always this kind of wall that I was unsure of broaching of bringing you up to the masses. Not that I’m hiding you away but just, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be seen or shown or whatever 

Not that I’m showing you off

Well no i’d totally show you off let’s not kid ourselves, eds. Let us not! 

Yes, said Eds, I said Eds. Eds Mc. Edderson, haunt me if you want, we’ll go on mystical ghost adventures. 

Your friends all sound cool. I’d love to meet every single one of them and reference you as slyly as possible. I wonder if I would get away with it. 

Would love for you to redo my apartment and frantically try to stop you from destroying my dirty dusty stuff. Yes, Eddie, you would totally hate my place except not at all because the character content of it is too strong, it’s too powerful, you can’t help but like it! Haha! Fuckin’... 

Dunno how to finish this goddamn letter

I’ve been pricked probably 173 times; the back of my thighs and arms are microbladed to perfection.

I’ll tell you how CATS goes in my next letter Eds, but for now, purr purr meow! Us cool kitties are off to the venue. 

Meow!

Pft, tell me how you’re doing and sorry for this shitty ass letter but I really needed to send it because we’re passing the post office on the way and i’m a hectic mess not saying I’d forget to write a letter but there can be no delay okay

Cheers!--

R.T.

[ Enclosed:

‘ A blurry mirror polaroid with the flash obscuring most detail. A man’s face, painted nose, and costumed scraggly whiskers are separate from the rest of the remaining image. It consists of a kicked out leg clothed in muted browns and oranges, with bright yellows and whites-- like a tiger or maybe a tabby. Someone is seen next to the figure displaying bright red nails sharpened into claws and sticking out a tongue, face obscured as it ducks into the photo, hovering by the man’s stomach, but the body seems distinctly feminine with the barest arch of the back that disappears out of frame. ]

November 21st  
Eddie K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

I hope you enjoyed yourself. 

You look ~~goodniceyoulook~~

I like your costume. You look good. You both look good- from what I can see.

The hospital says it’s considering opening up computer literacy classes for educational sources. Do you have an AIM?

Let me know if you’d prefer that as a mode of communication. 

I don’t know what Cats is. 

I would be fine with you discussing me with your friends. I don’t know why I think it’s weird you want to, but I won’t dissuade you. 

Warm regards--

Eddie K.

P.S. It’s official: I hate your apartment. Also, are you guys dressing up for Cats at the goddamn Roosevelt? Is this cardstock from the Roosevelt? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: rhysses
> 
> im happy w this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the value of communication and friendship: holiday edition!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190266787@N03/50359092258/in/dateposted-public/)

Thanksgiving at Palm Meadows is as festive as it can be. Unobtrusive, quiet, and warm. He got postcards from Bill and Mike. Beverly sent him a letter that came through a few days prior. The most personal interaction was Patricia stopping by to visit. Something Eddie did not expect and had foolishly been unprepared for.

He liked Patty, he remembers that night, and all the ones to follow. He really likes her.

She has a clear plastic container filled with other plastic containers. When she sees him, her smile is inviting, unlike the flat tone she speaks with. “Hey, shithead. Couldn’t even put on your good sweatpants for me, huh?” The still shock that Eddie is briefly left with loosens as he flashes back, “For _you_?” and they both know things are good..

“Stan obviously wanted to give you 63 million messages, but I thought those could be taken care of after dinner.” She’s not allowed in his quarters but the cafeteria has been cleared out, save for stragglers. Most everyone was herded off to activities; movies, board games, personal supervised investments. She has every part of the meal pre-packaged and serves it with the causal power an often-appointed hostess would wield. He’s not full from eating but has fallen into a state where speaking is a second thought. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s being pulled tight, the sensation of worms or tumours don’t occur to him, he just sort of smiles at Patty and eases back in his chair with a cup of hot chocolate.

They sit comfortably for some time in the quiet.

Eddie’s yawn is polite and he mumbles an ‘excuse me.’ Looks from the clock to her, then tilts his head. “Isn’t Stan wondering where you are?”

“Oh, he knew I was going to stay a while. Milk this visit.” She’s eating one of the four pieces of pre prepared pumpkin pies that, after eating, Eddie correctly cited as being a Winn-Dixie’s present. Her smug smile since then had stayed on and it was turned on him, her teeth waving through the part of her lips. “Beside, he’s probably big jealous knowing I get to hoard you.”

“Who the hell would be jealous of that?” She kicks him under the table and he bug-eyes a “ _What_ , just saying!”

“You’re such a doofus.” He laughs now and so does she. 

Eddie manages to snark through his giggle fit, “ _D-Doofus_? Alright, geezer, don’t let the age show. Didn’t know a 61 year-old hijacked the body of a respectable younger woman.” He dabbed at a tear in the crease of his eye, huffing through his nose as Patty kicked him again under the table. Her sincerity wasn’t expected as she straightened up from the attack, fork balancing a careful piece of pie.

“I think you’re a loser for thinking it’s weird people like you, Eddie.” She hummed around her fork and leaned forward on her elbows (his mom would have killed him) and reached out to affectionately pinch his earlobe. “That’s fine, though. Join the club.”

He wonders if the rough scuff of his growing beard displeases her. He wonders if she knows how feeling, just briefly, the scrape of her wrist as she went for his earlobe shook him with her words, the promise of a community, the reminder of being barren-- of being alone. Maybe that’s why his mouth forms the words and when he says them, her smile turns up five decibels. 

“I’ve been talking to someone.”

She waits expectantly, sipping her cider.

“He’s a guy in New York. He’s probably a little younger than me, maybe the same age.” Eddie holds his cup very tight and tries to channel the heat down his cheeks and through his arms, to his hands. “We’ve been writing letters for a few months now.”

Patty’s leaned fully in, with that suggestive lilt, “Oh, a few mo-onths--”

“Shut up, Christ.” He shields his vision and looks away because wow, it’s _hard_ to not talk about him at length when he gets started. It feels like this cacophony just held behind a wall but now that he’s said it, said _I’m talking to someone_ he wants to talk all about that someone. He wants to ask Patty how tall she thinks he is, wants to ask her about his letters, wants to show her the pictures, the brochures, the trinkets. But at the same time there’s a dangerous snarl that hoards R.T. close; those memories, those sights, they’re only for him. His throat is dry with it, the thoughts flying around, and he manages to continue. “We started talking online recently. It’s a nice change of pace.”

There is a full minute of quiet where he risks looking at Patty again. She’s demured into a knowing smile and he doesn’t want to say it, and she obviously expects him to continue. “... _What_.”

“Nothing!” She waves her hand and the laughter makes her eyes gleam. It is not unreasonable to understand why Stan is so in love. At Eddie’s disbelieving squint, she sombers and leans back in her chair. “It’s just- I’m happy for you. And I’m… I want you to b happy. But what about. You know, loose ends?”

“Loose ends?”

He asks but finds his answer almost immediately. Right. “Yeah, we’ve been talking more, too. Through emails.” 

“How’s that going?” She’s gentle like Stan but more direct. He wishes they’d gone into the clinical therapy occupation (and in Stan’s case, stayed there.) Her little nod at his shrug makes him feel better, just the tiniest affirmation.

Eddie blusters for a minute, not knowing exactly what to say in the continued swirl. “I think, it’s- it’s almost better? Is that bad to say?”

“No, no, not at all.”

“It’s almost better. Not having… to speak to her. It’s-- when we lay it out plainly, it feels better. We’re not fighting.” He thinks about the emails now, the frigid and tense paragraphs and how they’ve managed to evolve since their inception. He speaks quietly, lost for a moment. “It’s like, being away from her, it feels like that first... that first time with Mom, I’ve mentioned, where I feel so wrong and I have to convince myself to not run back but that I’m not running away. It’s so weird but I can’t dislike her; I like her, in fact, I really do like Myra. I feel bad because what she’s saying is right. I wasted her time. I abused her years.”

Patricia has a hand over his and Eddie didn’t realise his hand had gone to his face, pinching, scratching. Her grip is gentle and he lets her lower their palms to the table-- doesn’t know if he should apologise but she seems to understand. “It’s okay.” Patty rubs his knuckles. “You didn’t abuse her years, Eddie. What happened isn’t your fault; you were lost, both of you were, and you were _young_. Hey, look,” he turns his head and tenses his jaw. 

“Look. Things happen sometime. But you shouldn’t berate yourself like the two of you didn’t make a decision together. I think maybe this time a part has shed some light for introspection. Especially with your Mom, I mean, she was always present and there kinda. Maybe the emails are better because she’s not… meddling.” 

She does a good job of outlining the facts without blowing him over the head with it. 

Eddie feels bad that he wonders what his life would have been like if she had just died from heartbreak like she promised. But that ghost followed him to New York and got a ghoulish grip in his life- because he could never say no to his mother. 

Because he was scared of the heartbreak, too. Because he was scared of the loneliness.

He puts a hand over hers and then asks, shakily, “Can I have the third slice of pie?”

Stan was waiting in the car, Patty reveals to him as she leaves. Of course he would be, Eddie thinks, watching her leave the double door set and walk out into the main hall. That a pair of doors is what separates them really. Just some wood and glass and motorized locks. 

He keeps waving until he can imagine the click of her smart shoes on the sloping pavement. Waves until he can imagine how close Stan’s car would have been in this empty place. Waves until he can imagine Stan seeing him somehow and raising a hand back, with a sweet smile, then flipping him off. Imagines Patty punching his arm, their exchanged glance of love, and only stops once his mind tells him tires squeal away-- the rickets of a shitty suspension being rocked by a speed bump, and turning out of the facility. 

Richie sends him socks and cinnamon apple strawberry sticks to stir into his tea. His card is short, wishing him the happiest of holidays with a short booklist attached with star ratings next to each entry. He promises they’ll ‘talk about it tonight’ and signs the letter with a titillating ‘-x’ at the bottom after ‘R.T.’ Nurses aren’t allowed to accept presents but he’s managed to knit baby booties for Clara’s soon-to-come Christopher, and volunteers for dish duty. Bill and Mike made sure a parcel was delivered with a disgusting scarf (“I tried!”) and Bill’s much less heinous mini scrapbook. He called it ‘Places To Show You.’ Their card was much longer, and made Eddie cry.

Patty and Beverly visited him with hospital-approved soft packages. Patty got him a nice jelly portfolio, since he’d been trying to store the work he was producing in computer literacy, and Beverly made him a beanie. It was a horrible blend of garish kitsch that he loved, frayed glitter string and all. She was a professional in her craft and obviously knew how much he’d liked it. 

In his spare time, he’s managed to crochet her a floppy mouse-ear headband and create Patty and Stan matching tube tops. Their reception to it was more than worth the spotty hours where his drug-addled haze prevented concrete thoughts.

They danced to the old bebop tunes cranking away from the radio Renyolds provided. 

Although he’d promised availability, it seemed insane to him that Richie would ever be online. Not the busy New Yorker with all of his friends and gigs. But like a shadow Eddie creeps to the education center, signing in and making his way to the usual computer he mans. 

It’s easier for the connection to boot up on holiday evenings. Visitations are usually done and phonecalls are sparse, patients busy with their own clinic-aided happiness. He’s got the sweater Bill and Mike gave him on and enjoys the comfortable pressure of Beverly’s stupid beanie. It magnifies how long his hairs gotten; he hadn’t realised it was getting past his neck until all the hair scrunched too warm at his nape.

He was warm in general. Being love-bombed will do that, probably. Seeing his friends and pretending like things were normal, dancing around? It was good. It felt good to acknowledge that it had been a good day. Even as the chatroom stayed empty for the hour, his warmth didn’t wane too much. 

The computer’s tone alerted him of Richie’s entrance and he immediately adjusted in his seat, fingers posed over the keyboard. 

**kasp.e_e** : He enters...

 **Trasher_thrash** : edhead!

 **Trasher_thrash** : eddo meadow!

 **Trasher_thrash** : eddieeeeeee spa-ghe-ttttttiiiiiieee

 **kasp.e_e** : oh my god shut up

 **Trasher_thrash** : happy holidays to you too eds <3

 **kasp.e_e** : happy holidays richie :-)

 **Trasher_thrash** : how was your christmas day dearie

 **kasp.e_e** : errrr ok! My friends visited me which I was really happy for. I gave them gifts, they gave me gifts. 

**Trasher_thrash** : nice nice 

**kasp.e_e** : how about yours?

 **Trasher_thrash** : fuuuuck i mean,

 **Trasher_thrash** : alright ig????

 **Trasher_thrash** : i’ve got my parents in town right now so i had to sit thru the 

**Trasher_thrash** : “richie wtf your room looks like this why do you have this stuff why do things look like this why why why no food only booze”

 **Trasher_thrash** : which is a LIE i have food!!! just not fully stocked pantries gd X-D

 **kasp.e_e** : Hmm… Suuuuure…

 **Trasher_thrash** : ur just trying to bait me so i can talk about all the meals i can cook for u ;-)

 **kasp.e_e** : A lie.

 **Trasher_thrash** : want me to go through all the delicious shit packed into this fridge n freezer unit

 **kasp.e_e** : You Don’t Need To, Thanks.

 **Trasher_thrash** : dw we can go thru the inventory babe

 **kasp.e_e** : ANYWAYS, what are you up to now?

 **Trasher_thrash** : just finished up watching mme. lansbury solve small town gossip

 **Trasher_thrash** : took a shower, got my parents set up in the guest room, have some cocoa in a cup 

**Trasher_thrash** : talking to eddie-baby ;-)

 **kasp.e_e** : You have a fucking guest bedroom?

 **kasp.e_e** : In New York? 

**kasp.e_e** : Where do you live? What the shit? 

**Trasher_thrash** : come by and see 

**kasp.e_e** : Ha ha, fucker. You love being evasive.

 **Trasher_thrash** : gotta keep some air of mystery so you dont get bored of me 

**kasp.e_e** : i would never get bored of you, weirdo.

 **Trasher_thrash** : aaaaaawwweeee

 **Trasher_thrash** : being serious, tho

 **Trasher_thrash:** it would be great for you to come here

 **kasp.e_e** : if i could

 **Trasher_thrash** : yeah

 **Trasher_thrash** : if

He didn’t know what to say. The education center’s room had gotten dark with one of the emergency lights on just barely in the back.

**kasp.e_e** : How’s the weather?

 **Trasher_thrash** : same since yesterday and the day before that

 **Trasher_thrash** : last week, two weeks ago

 **kasp.e_e** : Did you go to TS?

 **Trasher_thrash** : my dad fuckin hates that place lol X-D

 **Trasher_thrash** : but everytime my mom gets the chance she’s like

 **Trasher_thrash** : “photoshoot!!!! Wheeee!!”

 **Trasher_thrash** : we didnt stay long moms like ‘ahh my aching bones’

 **Trasher_thrash** : but with like, an accent

 **Trasher_thrash** : fuuuuck if u could hear my accents lol

 **kasp.e_e** : They suck. Got that squared out.

 **Trasher_thrash** : lie to urself all u want eds but we both know i fuccin slap at accents

 **Kasp.e_e** : I literally think your accents probably sound like the mangled gargles of a shitty ass puppet.

 **Trasher_thrash** : write a book!!!!!! Ur imagination is so good n u write so well

 **Trasher_thrash** : can you practice those tips i gave u

 **Trasher_thrash** : how to not type like ur a robot lmao 

**kasp.e_e** : >:-( shut up fuck you

 **Trasher_thrash** : muuuuch better eddobabbo

 **kasp.e_e** : Your insistence on the nicknames aren’t gonna end?

 **kasp.e_e** : Really chaps my hide

 **Trasher_thrash** : chaps my hide

 **Trasher_thrash** : im so fuckin.. Using that shit in a bit man

 **Trasher_thrash** : u say the best shit!!! XD chaps my hide lmao

 **kasp.e_e** : Fucking credit me you crock!!

 **Trasher_thrash** : yeayea ill say it dude ill say like “this fuckin apparation, this angel bestowneth uponeth me had said this Super Funny Ass Shit”

 **kasp.e_e** : Your hyperboles are so exasperating ohhhhmygosh

 **Trasher_thrash** : using big words at this time of night 

**Trasher_thrash** : not a white christmas down there right?

 **kasp.e_e** : Obviously

 **Trasher_thrash** : the idea of wearing a jimmy buffet wardrobe during the holidays is kinda sexy to me ??????

 **kasp.e_e** : I mean it’s *cold* but it’s not snowing

 **Trasher_thrash** : cold as in

 **kasp.e_e** : well not NYC cold obviously, it’s the warmest cold ever but. (shrug)

 **Trasher_thrash** : maybe i should come down and experience it 

**kasp.e_e** : Don't wear jimmy buffet clothes during december in florida, you’ll look like such a tourist

 **Trasher_thrash** : i AM a tourist

 **kasp.e_e** : don’t PUBLICIZE IT, you’re going to like, do that thing, the LARPing thing

 **kasp.e_e** : as Jimmy fucking Buffet????

 **kasp.e_e** : Are you going to be walking around holding a goddamn margarita too?

 **Trasher_thrash** : more of a long island guy, sans the long island, allllll tea

 **Trasher_thrash** : gotta make myself easy to see if im gonna visit eds spagheads

 **kasp.e_e** : Please stop with the 

**kasp.e_e** : With the whatever it is that you’re doing.

 **Trasher_thrash** : u should believe me when i say things :-(

 **kasp.e_e** : i have to go to bed soon

 **Trasher_thrash** : baby does nightnight

 **kasp.e_e** : I’ll knock you out with a nightnight ohh my gosh. Quit it. 

**Trasher_thrash** : you are my baby tho

 **kasp.e_e** : jesus christ richie 

**Trasher_thrash** : there we go!!!! Breaking down that staunch grammar structure

 **Trasher_thrash** : but seriously

 **Trasher_thrash** : id love to visit you

 **kasp.e_e** : dont think that’s allowed

 **kasp.e_e** : Think the goals of penpals are to stay penpals. Not life-friends. 

**Trasher_thrash** : you make it hard to do that

 **kasp.e_e** : ??? What do you mean?

 **Trasher_thrash** : you make it hard to stay penpals

 **kasp.e_e** : You’re still writing letters though

 **Trasher_thrash** : i mean im not gonna stop lol

 **Trasher_thrash** : i just say what i mean, n i told you you should believe me when i say things

 **Trasher_thrash** : i wanna meet u 

**kasp.e_e** : rich

 **Trasher_thrash** : i love talking to u and writing u but ykno

 **Trasher_thrash** : u gotta hear my voices lol

 **Trasher_thrash** : and i want to hear ur reaction 

**Trasher_thrash** : and see ur reaction 

**Trasher_thrash** : among other things ;-)

 **kasp.e_e** : I think that’s dumb.

 **Trasher_thrash** : ill have to find the brochure advertising mikes library again

 **Trasher_thrash** : see if i can make a pitstop to visit my favorite person

 **kasp.e_e** : QUIT IT it’s too late for this bullshit richie 

**Trasher_thrash** : but ur not saying no tho ;-)

 **Trasher_thrash** : are you?

 **kasp.e_e** : I wouldn’t be opposed.

 **Trasher_thrash** : mm

 **Trasher_thrash** : eddie translation for “yeah holy shit plsssss visit me lol”

 **kasp.e_e** : I’m going to bed now.

 **kasp.e_e** : The orderly is here to come and get me.

 **Trasher_thrash** : alright let papa talk to the big boss at the hospital and get my visit scheduled tahaaaa

 **kasp.e_e** : You do that, sweetheart.

 **kasp.e_e** : Goodnight, Richie.

 **Trasher_thrash** : haha lol

 **Trasher_thrash** : night edde

 **Trasher_thrash** : merry christmas xo

His eyes had spots from the drugs and the computer. The grew and faded, filaments in his brain making things hazy and hard. 

Richie’s pet name habits started shortly into their letter exchange. Although actively discouraged, Eddie would relent and go with them. But it’s like every time they chipped at him. _Chip, chip_ , the baby, the nicknames-- _chip, chip._ The promises, the fantasies. _Chip_. To visit, to see him, to reciprocate that desire. He wondered what Richie’s hands were like. He’s seen them to scale now, positioned next to books, in mirrors, his camera-- obscuring his smile with flash. 

His sweatpants and sweater were comforting weights. He shimmied a hand under them and raked a hand up his thigh. Thought about Richie’s hands, the blurred nail just a little bit sharp. Not fully blunted. Thought about the stubble, his sideburns, the rough look. Not worker’s hands, but just big. Fitting. He squeezed his thigh, rolled the flesh in his hands. It had gotten-- there was more. It grossed him out but he persisted. Tried to mash bruises into his flesh. Rolled over slow, lazy; his head felt like it went on a tilt-a-whirl even with his eyes closed. 

Imagined meeting him. How tall would he be? Maybe he would be thinner than the pictures. Maybe he would be broader. How warm would he be, how kind would he be. How would he look at him, how would he touch him-

 _Baby._ _My baby._

His his his. Hishishis. 

_Edward, sweetie, my little baby. My fragile flowerbaby_ \--

He wanted to be

_My little baby, you’ll never grow up and leave me right?_

**w** anted,

_Eddie, baby, where are you? Can you make sure to call me back?_

“Fuck,” he whimpered, sluggish. Felt like he was floating in water, sinking. “Fuck, Richie.” He could feel himself hard but it didn’t really connect, just the kneading of his flesh, the rubbing, the clawing. Pretending an arm was around his waist, a hand cupped under his ass. Cradled and speaking to Richie face-to-face. That smile animated all for him. Those arms, big. Circling him. Hugging him. Laughing in his ear. 

He managed not to ruin his sweatpants, but his energy petered out with his strength, the precum slick smeared on his skin like someone’s hand dragged through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean, would *you* believe richie? go vote on my twitter poll. 
> 
> as always kudos and comments stun me but i am forever appreciative. thanks for sticking with this story :^) I'll be adding some art i made throughout (lil sketches nothing fantastic)
> 
> feel free to chat w/ me on twitter: @[rhysses](https://twitter.com/rhysses?s=09)
> 
> ok thanks love you bye-  
> xo


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> season's greetings-- or, how to bring in the new year

December 3rd  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dearest Eddie,

Howdy! 

So after looking through the log and seeing what titles we were feeling pretty warm about, I think it’s best to settle with these titles:

Brian Greene’s  The Elegant Universe : seems really cool and he’s doing a book tour sometime next year to celebrate its update. I wish I could send you a signed copy but most that’ll happen, I’ll try and nab a regular version and then get a signed one and prop that up in the living room. Sounds good? Will this sate you, X-Files fiend? 

We can start with your Hannibal series like you mentioned. I do not do well with, as it says on the warning label, ‘graphic depictions of violence’ and ‘gore’ but for you, Eds, I will skim. But there’s a decision with this one! It’s either that or  The Secret History . I can only take so much big brain character chatter before I begin to feel like the book’s looking at me and calling me stupid.

I know you probably are halfway through your second read, but I’ll get Denbrough’s  The Attic  . Again, as mentioned, I’m skimming the crazy gore parts if there are any. But I want to support friends and independent publishers! Except he’s not, Mr. Penguin Publishing hooooooowwww fancy.

I’ve always heard of Orlando but never really did anything about it. We’re either going with Woolf or something from the beatnicks. Hey, Denbrough and whats-his-name have really similar names. At least they do in my memory. 

Reading list aside, hi honey, how was your day? I made ramen for the fifth time this week because I’m waiting on a paycheck. Two nickels and some dimes, oh we’re raking! it! In!

Things have been going good. I didn't get run over leaving any bodegas recently, my Mom is going to visit again and stack me up with leftovers, and there’s some gigs on the horizon I’m excited to see. Have things in the works I’m excited to work on. 

It’s been nice having someone like you to anchor me down, y’know? Trying to get into the swing of marking what happens in a journal, a notepad, like the ones I keep for stupid jokes. Especially since you’re not a page away-- I wish you were. I mean AIM has been great trust me. But it’s just that I think the more access I have, the more I want. Haha. It sounds greedy when I put it on paper but they did tell me I had a hoarding habit when I was younger. 

Happy to hear they’ve been giving you some more access to big-boy chores. Big man on campus, huh, walking around doing dishes and helping with cooking. I feel like when you tell it, on reflection, you probably bothered the shit out of them about needing a new outlet before they finally caved. We all know your happy place is nose-deep in bleach.

Had to help my neighbor shovel fucking snow! Her car got completely baked in, but I finally learned the dogs’ names. Daisy and Fox. It’s cool, because I hear her (my neighbor, her name’s Kay) call her _lazy_ a lot, and I guess it’s a joke-- Lazy Daisy. Fox was a lot easier to remember because it’s morbid to name an animal after another animal, right? But also super cute… Anyways, it was a nice bonding moment. Kay’s cool as shit, used to be a welder and make a boat load of cash, now starting up a flower shop over in SoHo which I have five sticky notes telling me to go to because it’s gonna slip my mind. Or maybe it won’t--- she’ll totally remind me.

Audra’s super cool, too. They’re friends. 

“Friends.”

Definitely girlfriends. I think they think I’m straight so they’re trying to be careful, but by the end of the shoveling and coffee chill-out, that bridge may have been crossed and observed in its full construction. As in, they’re onto me, Eds! 

I wonder if it’s obvious after a while. Or if it only comes out around my kinfolk, the Lesbians. Or… bisexuals. I don’t know their life but I WILL, I am dedicating myself to becoming close friends with them. 

They’re big on some wine nights, though, which shouldn’t be an issue. I’m really sticking with it this time and feel like it won’t shake me off. Or I won’t derail myself haha. So I’ll have to bring my own cider. It’ll be delicious. :)

One day we’ll all sit down, the four of us, and have a coffee chill-out, lil’ cider moment? Wouldn’t it be cute? 

Cheers from yours--

  
R.T.

December 12th  
Edward K.  
c/o Palm Meadows   
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

Elegant Universe, The Secret History, The Attic, and Orlando. We’ll do a reconvening about everything at the end of January. 

Also, this isn’t a school paper, why are you trying to do proper-- I don’t even know what to call it, punctuation? Emphasis? Encoding? Maybe citation. 

You discussing how broke you are is always so temporal. By the next letter, you’re going to be talking about the bungalow you’re ready to buy at Calabasas. Broke is such a moment for you, it’s actually fucking rich. 

Does the gig have to do with that script you sent me last week? Tell me what your Mom gets you. I guess it’s too late to tell her I said “hi” and that would be weird from a stranger her son knows.

You don’t have to keep a journal just for jotting down your stuff about your day. I appreciate that you try to distance those things from the dick jokes though. It’s almost like you view me with some respect. 

They scheduled me for a meeting, actually. I think they’re going to put me on a modified accessibility list. Might let me do unsupervised tasks. It’s sort of an exciting prospect. Also, I don’t bother them. They just appreciate my dedication to cleanliness.

But also, what the fuck else am I going to do? Crochet and badminton can only do so much.

Daisy and Fox. Cute. I wonder if she named her flowershop something like that. Maybe Fox is because of foxtails? If we’re going off of daisies, plants, etc.

~~I didn’~~

~~You n~~

~~Is it comm~~

~~That’s gay.~~

That’s gay. 

They don’t serve coffee here too much. Helped me wean off the caffeine, kind of nervous to touch the stuff now. Cider sounds good, though.

Good job with it, by the way. From what you’ve mention, it sounded really tough. Maybe you should find some new outlets that aren’t rancid comedy clubs (even though the beer-soaked vinyl adds to the ambiance.)

Are you going to your parents for Christmas? Started shopping yet? Even though the policy says no, I think I’m perfecting baby mitten patterns. I’d send you all the baby mittens I’ve been making so you could boost your income by selling them, but then I thought, “Would he even forward me a fucking cent?” but we’re not allowed to send or accept money or good exchanges in PPP.

Must have been proud of themselves for that one. The PPP. PM’s PPP. 

Might have to start a journal myself for the reading list. Would rather annotate, but any books I put orders for become library property or scheduled returns.

We can’t synchronize sustained reading so if you tell me any spoilers of any kind at any moment, I’ll lose my fucking mind. YES that includes Bill’s book.

Warm regards--

  
Eddie K. 

December 20th  
Richie T.   
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

Broke is such a moment for you, it’s actually fucking rich.

Broke is such a moment for you, it’s actually fucking rich. 

Broke is such a moment for you, it’s actually fucking rich. 

I’ve been repeating that in my head non goddamn stop. I felt like my stomach would explode with the way that got me. But it’s also so powerful, what the fuck? Broke is such a moment for you, it’s _actually fucking rich_ like.

There are so many layers of that to unpack that I’m actually stumped. All I have to say is that I’d rather look at a place like Seychelles before Calabasas. So overplayed. 

Anyways, hey there sun and stars. It’s almost Christmas! Yalla yalla, let’s go home.

Let’s start from there: I’m Richie and I’m at home, my old place, the Parental Pad. I packed up and took a red-eye from La Guardia since I was dithering in Cali for some conference last minute. I’m still in that weird mode where you’re awake just a little past the normal bedtime but your body’s in a 4-in-the-afternoon mode. It’s kinda weird. 

I saw my Mom earlier this month but it’s different seeing her in her setting. She comes over to my place, she makes it her own and all that but things still aren’t right. The shelves are a little too high or I don’t have the coriander or dill where she’s used to. But the house and her, they’re like a glove and hand. It’s crazy to realize what comfort looks like, etched into someone. 

The gig I mentioned was the Cali thing. We can talk more about it later, but it seems pretty promising. I had a meeting with some execs between panel hopping. Kind of the lame industry stuff that sounds stupid when you boil it down, ‘cause I mostly just chatted and walked, but the importance is definitely there. It’s _there_. I can’t talk bout it much without getting a little excited so I’m calming down now. We’ll chat on it later. 

Your assumption that my Mom doesn’t already know of you is hilarious. She says she hopes you’re doing well. 

I know you’re a real stickler for being rough and depreciating yourself, but your crocheting is good. It’s been this long of you doing it on the regular after all! There’s no way they’re not sellable. I’d definitely support my local independent artist whom I respect and care for greatly. 

Speaking of, do you ever find it difficult to shop for the rich and famous? Some friends of mine are on an up-and-up I’ve yet to achieve (cross paws Eds!!) and it’s getting to that point where I’m just stumped sometimes if I’m supposed to get them presents that reflect and cater to their new lifestyle or keep buying them their favourite seasonal instant coffee. I got this french press for a friend down at the swap shop that’s cool looking and I cleaned it up real nice, but is it enough? Is it enough Eds? I just don’t know.

I think about being famous. Is that bad? 

Like, if a television crew or a magazine was to interview me at my parent’s house, what would they say? How would they spin it? “Cozy and comfortable chic”? Could I say fuck as much I wanted to-- would they write in how sweaty my hands get? 

Being home has got me thinking about so much. It took forever for my parents to travel. Dad’s a dentist, Mom stayed home. One time I broke my frames and she cried for three day every time she saw how crooked they were because we didn’t have the cash to afford getting them fixed again for the sixth time that year. You’d think with a dentist we’d be rolling but the town was small, “cozy”-- people would usually just sit and let their cavities grow until a root canal made itself known during the macaroni salad fair. And our house was always a little busted-- money for fixing the roof, for getting new fan blades, for finally caving and hiring plumbers. I don’t know if I was ever poor or ever felt it. I knew people had more money than me and I wanted that but I never really hated my parents for how destitute we were in comparison to people who drove, like, a Lexus around town.

I almost completely forgot about home. If it wasn’t for family up here, I swear I wouldn’t have even recalled that I lived in a place like this.

Feeling gigantic, haha. Cramped as hell twin bed and a tiny desk. So many of these things we got second-hand. I still get my shit second-hand; New York inventory, just drag the couches and the coffee tables off the sidestreet right? But you’re really right. Broke is temporary now. I… like, don’t have to live like I’m still struggling to survive in my 20s. ~~I don’t know why I do I feel like~~ It feels like it fits me somehow? To feel ~~content happy no just~~ content in some form of self-made suffering jesus this sounds so dramatic. 

Maybe things would come out better if we were in person. But then again, I already think I won’t be able to stop blabbing with you around. 

Is it weird to miss someone you’ve never met? Haha, my rents ask about you here and there, and it’s like I wanna tell them every stupid joke but then have the inevitable “but these are only through letters right” and I’d respond “letters _and_ IM, ugh GOD” it’d be great.

You probably won’t get this till a little after but I’ll say it anyhow: Merry Christmas, Eddie, and many more. Hoping you got to shower the nurses in all your elfish charm!!

Cheers from yours-- 

R.T.

P.S. audra and kay told me to tell you happy holidays because they like a non-denominational seasonal greeting, which I respect-- to your jewish pal, chag sameach! Light that menorah, spin that dreidal, aaaaaaaaWWWW YEEAAA. Hope you like the lil’ picture I took for you. 

December 31st  
Edward K.  
c/o Palm Meadows  
West Palm Beach, FL

Dear Richie,

~~Your sweater is so ugly it hurts. I do not think I can look at it.~~

~~Only someone li~~

Only someone like you would make a sweater that horrifying look decent.

Christmas in the wards. It went well. Stan said thank you. We ate pound cake and they played tunes over the speakers. Admiral Sticky, one of the patients here, joined the card game we were having and there was stuffing and cookies. Mike and Bill sent me a gift, so did the The Rat Pack-- they gave me a collective gift. ~~I’m di My ex~~ I got a letter from a friend with good-bad news. It’s been interesting. Dealing with finality.

Most of my possessions are sweaters, trousers, and little hand-done books. I got a charm to hang off something. It’s glittery.

Hope the holidays went well for you. I know we haven’t had the chance to talk since you’re away on AIM; sorry you don’t have a computer there, but it makes sense. Hijacking the one at your father’s practice sounds inconsiderate ~~although I woul~~

I’m glad you didn’t do it.

You should live how you want to. You’re growing as a person. I know _you_ won’t be getting this until next year, but I’m hoping you made it a resolution to… find comfort in being comfortable. If you need a money focused adrenaline fixed, just go into fucking stocks.

~~I m~~

~~It’s hard not I find it diffi~~

I miss you, too. 

You talk about me a lot to your friends. I hope I can meet them one day.

My friends say hi. I only refer to you as ‘R’ or ‘Trash McDumpsterson.’ Hope you don’t mind. We can transition to your first name next year.

We’re far away from places that would have fireworks. Protect the patients, prevent triggers. But you can see the fireworks at the yachts and sea-side beyond the window. You can see the glitter all the way by the buildings. Really distant but there. I bet if I was outside, I’d even hear it a little. 

We had pie and sat in groups to talk about healing, self-growth, remark about a personal change we’ve made since being here. 

I must have answered correctly; Jess wrote down something on her pad with a smile. The Rat Nest sent a postcard and said they were playing my favorite songs for their dance party. What would I have been doing today, a year ago? Probably at the company meeting. Sometimes they called people in- when they were short-staff and really needed a project done. Last year I volunteered to go in and there was punch, cider, a cheese and vegetable spread. I ordered pizza with the custodian there, John, and we shot the shit. I had to leave because After that, I spent the rest of the night in Square for the send-off. 

Hated it, not going to lie. 

But I was thinking if I missed it. Being around people in a crowded, loud space, for a common celebration. Not sure where I stand on it but writing you and drinking Publix-brand pop is pretty fine by me.

Happy New Year, Richie. Hope you spend it safe and happy.

With warm regards, yours- 

  
Eddie K. 

January 8th  
Richie T.  
PPP Post (Palmy Meadows)

Dear Eddie,

A lot’s been happening but seeing your letter is always such a relief. 

Sorry I’ve been so busy. I know I’ve left you hanging lately, but I promise it’s for good reason. 

I’m staying at the Delano. Call me when you get this.

674-6491 +406

Love--

Richie T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double upload because we're halfway thru bayBEEEE.  
> yeah it'll be a liiiitle different next chapter.  
> aka, way. cheers!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the new year brings new changes. namely, another medium transformation. what's left when you covered letters and IM?  
> oh yeah, that.

Eddie left the doctor’s office with a brain full of static snow. 

It was a surprise appointment; usually he went for a full roster check-in after he requested a prescription alteration or something. They wanted him to have a meeting so the head could determine if he was on track, not abusing anything. Stuff like that. 

Richie has been Away for 20 days. That was a longer waiting period than the letters. This was a giant pause that had admittedly left him feeling vulnerable. He worried despite his best efforts; he struggled to maintain a normal flow in his conduct; he fixated on the hours passing sitting in the education center, eyes trained on the short status Richie had left. ‘:P catch u on flipside dont miss me 2 much.’

Of course he fucking missed him. He wrote it in the goddamn letter and sat on his dick, growing more tense, more strained. 

Richie helped him eat. Richie told him what to do, gave him an outline- a suggestion- of how to live and it worked and he liked it. He liked waiting to see the typed list and liked telling Richie what he was up to, what he wanted to do, and how it could fit into his daily routine. It wasn’t like he was totally lost; Eddie just missed the knowing and the act of pleasing himself and his friend by simply living as best as he could.

But Richie had been Away. And Eddie’s appointment came up, January 5th at 2:15. He arrived on time and left at 3, changed in a massive way. Pieces nudged themselves into an order that he could comprehend.

For weeks, he was paranoid the staff was onto him.

Nurses gave him glances and seemed heavy-handed with food portions. Eddie thought it was his weight and pinched obsessively. Looked at himself in the tiny mirror they gave him in all directions, twisting, bending, rubbing and pulling to see if he’d gotten-- well, he didn’t know exactly. Was it his face or something? The itchy fry of his thoughts rubbed raw at the idea. Then it was the belief that maybe they were colluding with Richie. Maybe they knew somehow of their arrangement, of the list. No, but that didn’t make sense either.

But he was getting looks. He was getting smiles. They let him roam around more. They felt less restrictive, more sweet and flippant when it was medicine time. Wistful when they got him ready for bed. 

He should have remembered what it was like with Stan. Maybe outsiders could view things for what they were, but being at the core made looking up and out difficult. 

His room, with its simple desk and simple closet, the barely operable window, and hung letters. Taped postcards and stickynotes from Stan when he had been volunteering. Eddie stared at it for a while and sat down to absorb what he hadn’t thought possible.

* * *

He gets Richie’s letter during mail time and immediately asks Ryland if he can use the phones. No, that’s not true. He waits a while as if reading a longer letter. When he gets up, the note burns in his hand and he scowls at himself. Ryland doesn’t have x-ray vision; how was he to know? 

“Hey, Eddie, done with your mail?” The male nurse was always kind, even more so after their… interaction. His smile felt undeserved. 

“Yeah. I want to reply but I’m a little distracted.” 

“Ah, all the scribbling and chatter?” Ryland guessed and he nodded just for the sake of arriving at his destination. “Well, no trouble. You can go on; try and take a walk or something.” 

Eddie’s smile was small, relieved. “Thanks. I’ll, er, see you at dinner I guess?”

The man gave him a thumbs up and he took the cue to walk away, waving as he went down the hall. He covered his tracks in case of prying eyes. Walked with an impassive expression and tried not to let the nerves crackling in his stomach show. If someone could sense energies it could be noted that his blood pressure was on the rise. 

He took the stairs to exert some of the energy even if it was only one level down. A worker checked him at the top so he could make his way hurriedly to the phone center. He didn’t use it much, only recently to talk through divorce proceedings-- and for that, they’d called in. The center is really just a room with little privacy stations. Someone swipes him in and he walks to the one near the middle of the room because he knows that the closer to the far wall, the easier it is to hear. 

Although he could have swore his palms were sweaty enough, the paper is not rubbed raw and mulchy and the number is still there. 

Contemplation is bare; he’s already punching in the number and reflexively clicking the extension past the automated greeting.

It rings. It rings and rings. He sits there with wasps stinging his throat and it’s not until he hears the second ‘hello’ prompt him that he chokes out, “Hi, yeah. Is this Trashman?”

There’s a pause on the other end before an explosive laugh. It’s like nickels dropping into his stomach a constant reverb of what the feeling of  _ hearing _ , of  _ knowing _ that it is so simple-- that he does laugh at what he says. 

“Double-edge insult. Can’t even get the stage name right! How hurt am I,” Richie ( _ it’srichieit’srichieitshimithim _ ) laughs on the other end and Eddie feels how hard he’s smiling, shaking at just speaking to this man. He sounds different from what he expected. Older and with an affectation that colours his background in more. 

Adjusting in his seat, the man crosses his legs and bites his lip like a teenager. “You’ll survive.”

“I’m being treated right now. What soothing dulcet tones--”

“Jesus-”

“I’m being entranced with, like a salve on my broken heart,” he finished with a flourish of some Scottish brogue. It was terribly well done. Eddie wished he could smile at him, bare his teeth and leap at him, and says as much.

“God, I want to dropkick you.”

A startled laugh that edges into a clucked tongue. “Aww, that’s what you wanna do? Damn, anything else?”   


“Nope.” Eddie has not remembered his face stretching this far in years. “Nothing else. Just the dropkick.”

“Just that?”

“Just that.”

There is something curling at the corners of his eyes. He can almost taste a memory, something sweet and cold. Richie keeps talking through it. “I was sort of standing by my phone just staring and waiting. I Attempted To Be Patient And All I Get Is This Lousy Dropkick?” His reference almost makes Ed’s laughter surface but he opts for shaking his head, even if the other can’t see him.    


“You paid the admission fees. It was in the contract when you signed up. Letters and dropkicks are the only things you can receive from my person.”

“And phone calls, apparently,” Richie hummed and Eddie heard the distinct sound of rumpling sheets. He was already blushing but for some reason the noise brought awareness to the fact Richie was in a very expensive hotel room, lounging on a bed, speaking to him.

It did something. 

He can’t get over the sound of this man’s voice, lazy and even a little nasal. Gregarious with the laugh dancing in every word. Eddie’s mouth works without needing clearance and snaps off a sarcastic tone. “Oh, I’ll run it through the admins and see if we can put a better-joke-writing newsletter in the care package.”

Richie rode with it well. “And can I also request a subscription to HBO while we’re at it? Maybe Showtime?”

“Not satisfied with the pay-per-view options in fucking Delano, jackass? Greedy, greedy.”

“I’m a big guy and always hankering for some drama. Besides, the box at my place is full with scheduled watch-party fodder.” 

Eddie snorts. “Watch party? You and your hand make a crowd, you actually need a third for the festivities, Richie,” but the man’s already laughing on the other line and Eddie feels so weird that this  _ comedian _ this  _ paid comedian _ is cawing and crying over a stupid sentence. Again his emotions are shattered into sensory fragments and he’s a teenager, so happy and nervous and excited and aroused-- his brain is split in so many ways he almost feels like he could cry at the drop of a hat. 

Once Richie calms, his voice is raw from the abrupt fit. “Holy shit, that had me dying.” And the rub of its deepened nature has Eddie shifting in the seat.

“Should’ve stayed there,” he said blandly.

“This is so much better than anything I imagined.”

His sincerity throws Eddie off. “You imagined?”

“Of course I imagined. Haven’t you?”

Answers are abundant for that question. He thinks of clutching his pillow and rocking his hips, drooling over a computer screen, all the times he thought about the man in the pictures, the man from the letters.  _ Love-- Richie _ . Hadn’t that been how he signed it off? Or had he imagined that, too, the answer folded neatly in his pocket. Eddie closed his eyes and briefly licked his lips, not knowing what to say except an affirmative. 

Both ends of the line were quiet. Finally, Richie said “I’m glad” and it had Eddie squirming again. He’s seen probably five types of R.T. smiles. Mostly mid-laughs and goofy grins. What did he look like when he sounded so sweet? 

Eddie tried not to linger on the image. “Sorry. If you’ve actually been waiting. I came down to call you as soon as possible, but I know you’re probably busy-”

“Heeeey. Brakes on it, Eds, yo-”

“Not my name.”

“You’re all good. I’m not really doing anything and I’d torture myself over missing your call.”    


“Nothing to do in South Beach? Seriously?”

“I’m not really doing anything right  _ now _ . There are plenty activities of interest,” Richie corrected. “I even have an itinerary, in fact.”

Eddie was playing with the phone cord. “Well, let’s hear it. I want to see what tourist bullshit you’ve decided to do at one of the heights of tourist season.”

Richie grunts (fuck) and it’s quiet for a second aside for rummaging and sheet scuffs. He waits with bated breath until there’s an ‘aha’ and then throat clearing. His eyes roll immediately and his smile hasn’t waned one bit for the next endurance test of Richie’s grandstanding. “Well, my good chap, here we have my lengthy itinerary. Ah! Here, it says… Poolside breakfast at 1, for starters, while listening to the delightful register of one Madame Carrey.”

“That’s basically brunch, but alright.” 

“Next, my good sir, I present you with the afternoon shop hopping! Aventura, Burdines, and uhhh. Says here ‘Dollar General’ because I want to know how they compare to the ones I go to.”

“You’re not bringing a suitcase with you, are you?”

“Of course not! I’m buyi-” “You’re buying one at one of the stores, holy  _ shit _ .”

Laughs muffled, Richie soldiered on. “Bayside boating at six.”

“Your food will be eaten by seagulls, go on.”

“Clubbing at eight.” 

“Sweaty.”

“In bed by one so I can be on time for my appointment.”

“You sleep what, seven hours? What’s happening for you to be up by regular morning standard’s?”

“I have a special meeting, of course! For such a good secretary, you’re slacking on the task management.” Richie let out a breath Eddie read as an exhale; he must be leaning back, getting comfortable again. He didn’t have a chance to retort as the other man continued. “I’ve been working this thing out for a little while now, so I’m a bit anxious but mostly super fucking stoked.” 

Anxious but stoked. He could relate. “Does it have to do with the meeting you’ve been teasing about?” Eddie shifted the receiver to his other ear. “You don’t have to tell me details, obviously--  _ what _ what! Whaaaat, why are you laughing? You’re such a chuckle-slut.”

“CHUCKLE-SLUT? OHHHHH--”

He thinks he hears him fall off the bed. Richie’s obviously in tears again, speaking through coughs and airy ‘hah!’s. “Holy shit, you gotta take over. Put a hand up my ass and lemme just speak the shit you say, imagine this gab slapping up and down. I’ll be a fucking Peewee cast member at this rate-”

That actually got him to laugh, too. He’d mostly been holding it in but it finally comes out as a thin noise before spreading into a full-blown fit. Eddie wipes the corner of one eye and hisses “Shut the fuck up, you’re not funny! Just write better shit you hack!”

They go on like that. Both working through their own fits. Eddie has to pee really bad but he also wants to be like this forever, half-a-brain and lost in the haze of having little oxygen and an aching stomach and loving it. He loves it. 

_ Love-- Richie _

He

“You really want me to tell you, huh?” Richie’s probably still on the floor. He can see him, like they’re sitting across from each other. The man’s legs splayed out as he leaned against the bedside. How much space does he take up? What a thought. 

Recovered, Eddie sniffles and shrugs. “You can keep your secrets, I just thought, as your secretary and all…”

“Oh, so now you’re my secretary? I thought you quit.”

“Two week’s notice is always ready to be filed. Now cough it up.”

He sits through the pause patiently but his foot is hitting the side of his booth. Richie’s breathing is steady on the other end and it’s bordering on weird. “I’m going to be heading to this place for tea and crumpets with this guy. It’ll be a little weird I expect, but like I said, been working this one out for a whiiiile.”

Eddie isn’t stupid but he’s also lived a lifetime where hope was dangerous. Risking fantasies becoming reality, that wasn’t in the cards. But still his heartbeat picked up. He couldn’t hope. He wouldn’t dare hope but it was there and for the first time in a while, he  _ wanted _ to. Please, God, he wanted to. 

“I’m on tenterhooks. Who’s the station guy?”

“Not a station guy.”

Please. “Oh?”

Richie licked his lips on the other end of the line. He could hear it and the spit in his mouth making a soft smack as they separated for him to speak again. “Yeah, not a station guy. He’s more of a-”

“Private associate.”

“Personal friend.”

Dizzy, staring blankly ahead. He was biting his lip hard and the cord was wrapped in a tangle around his knuckle. “That sounds nice. You’re going to wake up people-hours to eat with him?”

“Yeah. I’m going to be shot as hell but I’m happy to do it.”

“Well,” Eddie started and could feel the shuddered exhale. “I’m sure he’ll be happy, too. You’re just going to do brunch?”

“Maybe a little more.”

He nodded to himself and wanted to ask so bad. His leg was bouncing. Richie laughed in the pregnant pause and he snapped. “What the hell is it now!?”

“You’re just being so precious right now, it’s adorable.”

“I will hang up this goddamn phone right the fuck now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“... Nah. Nah, I don’t think you will, Eddie.” The way he said it made his cock twitch. He was staring at nothing and breathing hard with the burning question on his lips, pulled between his teeth again before he murmured, “Go fuck yourself.”

“And if you did hang up, hey. That’s all good! This hotel runs my minutes.”

“Shit! Rich, I’m sorry-- I seriously didn’t. Dude, what the fuck, why wouldn’t you tell me that--”

“It’s not a big deal, babe, don’t worry about it.” Babe. Baby. “Besides, we can continue this conversation tomorrow.”

Hope in flames. His heart felt like it was going to drop and boil in his stomach acid. “Tomorrow?”

“Your people will call my people. Taha, but, until then, remember to eat your dinner tonight. You have meatloaf again?”

“Y..." He hesitates and feels this weird cotton between the ears. It blurs out essential thoughts and information. "Yeah, it’s meatloaf, but what-”

“Try and finish half of it as long as you eat every other portion.”

“Yeah, I will, but-”

“I’m going to head out for that poolside breakfast. I’m already late.” It was cheeky, he fucking knew it.

Eddie was tense as he bit out, “Oh, go choke on your capers, you goddamn tourist.”

Richie’s giggle was outright delighted. He hated how it made him melt. “Thank you for calling me, Eds. I like talking to you.”

Even though he was still annoyed, Eddie closed his eyes and tried to imagine that smiling mouth forming those words. “I like talking to you, too. Even if you are a jackass. We’ll… talk tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow. Bye, babe.”

The call ended there and he was left alone in the phone center. An orderly had to have ducked her head in at some point to check on the loud laughter but it was otherwise very empty. He was red and flustered and happy and anticipatory, trying to relax muscles and calm his breathing- which was shaky, uneven for the entire conversation. Practically panting, like a dog. The sweet flavour sat heavy on his tongue and he imagined licking saccharine lips-- not him, someone else, and it was artificial strawberries and something else.

Lost in recollecting the call that ended only minutes before, Eddie cursed loudly. He’d forgotten to tell Richie the news.

But there was tomorrow for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks, thanks for sticking with me. we're at the halfway point and things are fun, fine, and dandy.  
> how'd you like it how'd you like it, feel free to tell me because i want to know.
> 
> kudos and comments stun me but are always and forever appreciated. feel free to reach me at [rhysses](https://twitter.com/rhysses?s=09) to know about my ideas, updates, progress, etc.
> 
> ok thanks love you bye--  
> xoxo


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a meeting in threes
> 
> cw for this and further chapters: discussion of substance abuse / recovery / relapse

He did Tai Chi in the morning like usual. It was superficially calming but set up another litany of anxieties around cleanliness. The shower was typically a moment to stand under the water and breathe, but he tackled it with a quickened haste. Scrubbed hard and fast to stumble into a sweater and the smartest pair of trousers he had. They were simple cotton lounge pants but Bill had claimed they were very fashionable with middle-aged vacationers. 

Maybe he could imagine himself as someone who’d rented out a hotel room. It was almost comical, that perspective.

His caseworker was a woman named Nathalie Ramirez. She always had her hair in a bun and collected really funny glasses. Today she had on her purple pink-studded ones. Eddie knocked on her door gently for the pretense and let himself enter. 

“Eddie! Good morning, you’re looking fresh,” she greeted with her usual kindness. She made to get a chair for him but he hustled to it and brought it to her desk.

“Hi, Nathalie. I missed those glasses. Haven’t seen them since Fall.” He smiled as she turned her head to and fro. “Has Vogue called yet?”

She laughs and waves her hand at him. “Oh, stop it you. Their appointment is after yours.” Nathalie sighs and leans forward, supporting his chin on her crossed hands and gives him a square look. “So. How are we feeling about today, Eddie?”

Loaded question. He sighs and leans back, but can’t help the twitch that returns to his lips. Thinking about him, it sent a thrill all through his body, but there was horror there. “I’m… nervous,” he offered and watched her nod understandingly. “I’m… excited, to see him,” Eddie continued with another large exhale. “I’m scared I’ll do something stupid. I feel defensive, because I don’t want him to… look at me differently, when he sees me here.”

“You’re worried that the reality of the wards will discourage your growing relationship?” Eddie nods emphatically. She tuts and takes a drink from her coffee cup. “All of your emotions are totally valid, Eddie. Incredibly. This is, after all, a new person who you met through a very specific medium.” 

Eddie doesn’t tell her all the details. Hasn’t told anyone, really. How he rubs his nipples imagining Richie’s hands, how he palmed himself at letters in his memory that spoke of lovely lives together. Of beach homes and matching socks. Nicknames, pet names. He hasn’t told them all of those parts because he doesn’t want anything to get in the way of a friendly visit. He feels bad keeping those details from Nathalie who has only ever supported him, but some habits were hard to stop.

She holds out her hand and he takes it limply. “Just know that you are in control and that you have all of our support for today’s visit. You are a powerful person and if you feel uncomfortable, we will make sure to step in if you signal us.”

“Thank you, Nat,” he responds with a weak smile. Weak to this kindness. Still so abashed at willful affection. 

“I’ll let you get to it. Just know that you’re still going to stick to designated lunch periods, medicine periods, and educational periods. If he’s still here during these moments, he’s welcome to join or observe you during these times. Sound good?”

At Eddie’s nod she shakes his hand and grins, releasing him. “Then let have, Eddie, and remember to allow yourself enjoyment.”

“I’ll keep you posted, Nat. I’m legally obligated.” They laugh with one another before he departs, before she sees him nervously lick his hand and try to smoothe his hair back. But he couldn’t feel comfortable with how he looked, even though Bev had encouraged this longer, grown-out style. A grown man with hair. Myra’s flippant remarks about metrosexuals had to be smacked away.

He was calm, he was fine. It would be- it would be okay. 

But his palms felt sweaty as he collected his breakfast and sat at the small table. With the plastic chairs and the sweeping view of the grounds. His breathing was shaky. He was scared. What if he didn’t see what he liked? What if he turned away from the sight of him in medical-mandated neutral colours, a grown man curled up in a sweater and boat shoes. Eddie wanted to deny how much it affected him. His attention went for the papers. 

He could feel his Spanish getting better. There was something about one Henry Vadel and his orange farm. That really helped, the repetitive breakdown of words. Combing through his brain for the answers to sentences like he was doing a crossword. He might even do one of the crosswords; the staff would let him use one of the coloured pencils probably. Willing its existence was easy; Eddie was entirely absorbed when he heard the sound of a chair’s grind against the floor.

He looked up- then up. 

Felt like it was a frozen moment or something cinematic. From those old flicks, as the sweeping strings overtook the score and the sun was a spotlight, aimed at Cary Grant- except this was no Cary Grant. Better than Paul Newman. His shoulders were broad and his hair was so fucking  _ long _ , longer than he’d thought. His glasses were as thick as he said. He looked like all the pictures but more. So much more. Even the sight of him was overwhelming.

Richie cracked a grin at his mute, wide-eyed stare. “God, this reminds me of that crowd in Kalamazoo. I’ll be here all night, folks. Well I would be but that’s always a lie. Never trust a comic that says that.” He waves at the table. “Mind if I join you?”

Eddie still doesn’t know what to say. “No,” he whispers and then, confused, correctly quickly, “yes!” Richie is suspended between sitting and it emphasises how large he is. God, too big for these plastic chairs. For the table. His jaw is so-

“I mean, no, go, sit. I don’t mind, no, sit, yes.”

He laughs a little as he settles, eyebrows raised. “Wonderfully eloquent. Really like the letters. And IMs.”

It’s got him rabid. It’s something he didn’t tell Nat, how on edge he is because he feels like launching himself across the table and burrowing into Richie in any way possible. With hard teeth and exhilaration like different tempered waves with his anxiety. It gets him shaking and chattering. “Go fuck yourself you big bitch,” Eddie responds. 

Richie’s eyes are exaggerated by his lenses, but his smile is just as comically big to match. “Goddamn, all of this before the afternoon? Why didn’t I make more appointments before.” He smiles with crossed arms. “Really need this kind of pre-breakfast talk.”

“Did you uh, eat? Before? Coming here? I can… get you a platter,” but Richie’s waving his hand. 

“No worries, babe, I got my fill at the buffet line before driving over.”

“Cool. That’s cool.” 

They sit there and it’s quiet. Richie is just looking at him and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with his face, doesn’t want to look back because then he’ll be too overwhelmed to stop himself. Instead, he grunts and shoves his newspaper forward. “I was going to do the crosswords. Do you want to help?”

Richie takes the newspaper and rights it. “Ooh, crop talk. I like crop talk.”

“Crop talk?"

“Yeah, this guy’s talking about how the weird weather patterns have affected his orange grove.”

Eddie stares dumbly and then gets his hands under his chair and picks it up as he shuffles to Richie’s side. Sits next to him (not too close but close enough to feel his warmth, smell him, the bigness of him all, too much) and points at the text. “How do you know that?”

Rich waggles his eyebrows. “It’s what the T. stands for, Eds.”

“You never told me your last name.”

“Oh, shit, really? Oh my God, ha!” Richie snickers. “Why break the bit now then!”

“That’s not fucking fair, you asshole, you already know my information!” It feels so resonant, so true. Unforced even though his throat wants to close up and his body is fighting the urge to lean forward, into Richie, but they’re both smiling at each other. Eddie feels like he looks deranged and Richie is giving him all teeth. 

With his eyes on Eddie, the other man taps the newspaper. “It’s Spanish. I know Spanish.”

“How do you know Spanish?”

Still grinning, he flips through the paper, snapping it a little to better read. Makes a show of squinting even with those massive glasses on. “Weeellll we’ve been over my school performance. And I did try telling you I was from a tribe of ancient and elusive peoples.”

For lack of knowing what to do, Eddie just punches his arm and it feels good. It feels good as the other yelps and rubs the spot mock tender, but he’s still smiling at Eddie, still has that big, bright look in his handsome face. He’s not older than he initially pegged but maybe around Eddie’s age. Holds it well- better than most with hair that long and curled. 

There’s a chime above head and Eddie is reminded of where they are. Who he is in this facility. Richie gives him a quizzical look. 

“Um. It’s for the medicine. I’ll be back, just give me a second.”

They got up together, Eddie flashing the other a quizzical look. Richie just winked and shrugged. After a beat the two men walked together toward the cut-out crevice near the cafeteria. It was a fast-moving line, the nurse smiling at Eddie once she passed him his assigned caplets. He downed a few horsepills and chased it with water. Always pausing to make sure he wouldn’t immediately cough them back up before putting his empty cup in the little window’s basket. 

When he looked at Richie, there were no traces of judgement- just an open smile and a loud patterned blouse. 

“Um.” Eddie gestures vaguely and refuses to look down at Richie’s closeness- the ease in which their bodies magnetise- the overwhelming urge to take his hand. “Let’s go for a walk. Aids digestion.”

They fuss around the wards for two hours. Eddie has to go to art therapy and resist Richie's close presence and stupid jokes. As a pair, they bump into nurses and workers who are already warm to him and excited to meet his "new guest." Shows him the education room where he's sat and typed him, written to him. Finally they stroll around the gardens.

There is a flower nestled next to his ear and he's trying but failing not to show his obvious happiness. Richie talks next to him, looking around idly. "Like I was saying, feels like forever and three days since I got to look at plants like these, you know? It's still flurries and snow upstate." 

He laughs as a squirrel goes scampering by near them looking frantic as another one chases behind. "Feels like another world." 

Eddie dares to look at him and smiles in that moment. "Yeah. It's a definite change." This is his first warm winter, too. It's easy to forget now that he feels so separated from home as New York. Almost quite literally divorced with the way things were working out.

He gently touches Richie's arm and points his chin towards their left. "C'mere. I'll show you a spot to sit." The man follows behind him obediently, a shadow stitched to his form. There's a small patch of grass shaded by one of their palm trees that is a thin strip of shadow buffered by another tree's dark cast. 

Eddie usually liked to run around like a dog to chase his tail and collapse panting at this patch. It was a good place for when he was drugged up, as well, and the world was kind of like a mouthful of pop rocks.

With Richie, the place felt transformed. Sitting shoulder to shoulder. "This your little hangout, huh? Cute place." Richie basks, body cut in half. Eddie stares at the jeans cuffed and riding upward. Gaze switching to the warm laziness of Richie's smile. 

"You've said that about every place I've shown you so far. 'Cute place.' You can come up with new material surely?"

He watches Richie snicker and open his eyes to look at him. "I told you, you should write my material for me. I'm obviously working with zilch."

"You have good stuff, dickhead. You just need to actually show people your good stuff." 

Richie shrugs and then, tilting his head at Eddie, says, "You look really cute with the flower like that."

Reaching up to adjust it, Eddie bats his hands away. "You say that like you didn't pick it and put it there," which Richie responds to with another shrug. Smiles. Laughs a little.

"It's just funny, every time I look at you it's like the first time. I just have to call you pretty and cute. My object permanence is bad," but he's laughing by the end, raising his arms up to block Eddie's hits and growls.

Richie's head ends up in his lap. His hair is incredibly warm from walking in the sun, even with the chilly January air. Everything about Richie is warm. His eyes and smile, the feel of his hands and the crackle at the end of a drawn out laugh as his voice fries. It was different, just a little, from the embrace of all his friendships. But he didn't know how to explain it yet.

He twisted his fingers around strands and scratched at the man's scalp in long paths. They were out there for a while, probably, Eddie heard the crackle of the amplifier near the front entrance announcing lunch. 

Richie had nodded off and he considered simply pushing the man off, but that felt mean. And also Rich's head felt like it contained 20 percent of his body mass the thing was so big.

Tapping his cheek, he leaned close to whisper, "Hey. Hey, asshole. C'mon. Wake up. Hey.  _ Hey. _ " Pinching and tapping then and finally the beast roused with a groan. 

"Mother Hen, goddamn. Stop pecking I'm up I'm up." Richie put his head into Eddie's stomach and groaned, then snorted hard like he was about to snotrocket before hauling himself from the other's lap. "Why am I awake?"

"Food time." Eddie stands and looks down at the other man, half splayed on the ground. He looks back with something growling behind his eyes. Must be hungry, too. Jerking his head towards the front, he holds his hand out and Richie takes it. They meet momentums as Richie goes up and tries to yank him down and Eddie acts as the hauler at the crown of a ship. 

His face slams against Richie's awkwardly as they both go down again, a tangle of shouts and guffaws. It's exceptionally childish and certainly annoying but even as Ed mimes throttling Richie, as they grapple and huff then shoot up before any orderly can see them, it is invigorating and solid. He feels solid with him. Lets himself be shoved then wrapped in the other man's arm, pulled close and trying to trip the giant who laughs and froghops to avoid falling again. Warm, it's warm, and he doesn't want to leave the sun and re-enter the linoleum and white walls. But maybe with Richie he can have a slice of sunshine to-go. 

“You’ve been in places like this before, right?” 

They share another table in the cafeteria. It’s nearest the windows where the cold morning can be felt on the glass, but the sun still soothes any chill. Richie’s been enthusiastic about the food, complimenting the baby corns boil and how the chicken tastes real. His ease in the environment prompts the question. The answer takes a while longer.

Richie’s holding his fork loosely and looks blank, laughs quietly and scrunches his nose. Eddie cringes a little. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I don’t mean to-” He powers through Richie shaking his head. “No, seriously, I’m sorry you don’t have to answer that. You shouldn’t have to answer that, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Stop, take a breath.” His hand is over Eddie’s, who doesn’t realise- didn’t reslise- the pace that he’d picked up. “Look at me. Hey,” Richie squeezes the sides of his palm until their eyes are locked. “You’re fine, seriously, you’re alright. I’m not bothered.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop.” Richie doesn’t let go of him and Eddie wishes he would. Squirms until he’s released and the man across from him is taking a drink of water. “In answering your question, yes but no. It’s different. Or, well, was different,” he starts to explain with a half-smile. “I went to all kinds of places and centers. Never stuck to one until maybe the middle of my… recovery or whatever. This time, I didn’t go into a facility.”

“What do you mean? You just sat on your ass and quit?”

Maybe his confusion is funny but it doesn’t seem like Richie is smiling at him. He hums and waves his fork in figures eights. “Something like that. It wasn’t a ‘by myself’ process.” The fork rests against his lip on its final rotation. “It’s hard to avoid, y’know?” Eddie listens attentively, thoroughly quiet, and Richie continues with feigned lackadaisical energy. “There’s the bars and the clubs and your people, the ones you wanna network with, they’re all on poppers and ketamine.” 

He’s put the utensil down and rubs his chin with a short laugh. “Inescapable, no sense of control, all that. Boxed in. And what am I gonna say to that as a kid? Fuckin’ ‘no, mister, I don’t fuss with that stuff’? Please. It’s the currency of networking. The liaison, if you will.” Under the table, Richie nudges the mute listener. “But hey, growth and all that. I made some real good connections along the way who actually support me with this stuff. Everyday’s a process.”

They’ve talked briefly about his addictions and safeguards. Speaking on it in person feels a thousand times more vulnerable. Eddie stares across the table and Richie doesn’t seem to be looking back but finally glances his way. 

Eddie finishes his water and asks, softly, “Wanna get outta here?”

Richie mimes putting down a tip and they both get up with their plastic trays. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nibbles nibbles.


End file.
